The Agreement
by menm
Summary: Hermione's father is sick, and the Malfoys can help. Will she be willing to pay the price? Of course she will, because this is {Dramione}. ON HIATUS WHILE I DO A MASSIVE REWRITE. This summary has been updated 3.21.16 to show that I haven't abandoned you all. My writing just sucked so bad I got tired of looking at it. Read at your own risk.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

Thanks for stopping by! Sorry for such a short first chapter. They do get longer and more in depth!

Disclaimer: I do not own the wonderfully magical world of Harry Potter, nor its characters.

 **xxx**

 _Come on,_ Hermione thought as she ran towards the lift, checking her watch for the umpteenth time, _today is NOT a day to be late._

It was the day she and the Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, were set to discuss the details of her promotion. As fate would have it, it was also the day Murphy's Law reared its ugly head. Her shower had no hot water, she couldn't find her favorite jumper, one of the heels on her shoes snapped causing her to make a last minute change, and her black watch had stopped working, forcing her to make yet another change to her outfit and take her bright pink one instead. With her hair in a messy yet stylish bun on the top of her head and her new shoes rubbing a terrible blister, Hermione stuck her arm out, forcing the half shut lift to open completely and let her in.

She stepped in, put down her briefcase, and checked her watch again. 7:55 AM. Five minutes before her meeting. Normally, she'd be drinking her coffee on her way to her office, but seeing as she left her thermos on the counter, it would have to wait. Disappointed in her lack of morning caffeine, she only hoped that the rest of her day would go by much smoother.

When the lift finally stopped at her floor, it was 7:56 and she had less than four minutes to get her materials in order before Kingsley arrived. The doors opened and she was immediately greeted by Jenna, her secretary, holding a piping hot cup of coffee – black with exactly two teaspoons of sugar. The woman was a saint.

Jenna was a petite and mousy girl with long brown hair that she wore in a perpetual knot on the top of her head. She only wore it down for special occasions, and a random Thursday did not count. Her large, round brown eyes were hidden behind thick rimmed glasses, and she wore little makeup. Natural beauty hardly needed any. Jenna had been a year or two under Hermione at Hogwarts and had been in Ravenclaw; she had hoped to become a professor at Hogwarts, but they weren't hiring at the time she applied, so she took an intern job at the ministry instead. Hermione immediately noticed her intelligence and attention to detail, and begged the minister to move her up to secretary full time. Jenna had graciously accepted on the terms that she was to work for Hermione Granger, and Hermione Granger only.

"Thanks Jenna!" Hermione shouted as she flicked her wand at the cup, causing it to follow behind her at an alarming rate without spilling a drop.

"Do I have any messages?" She knew the answer was yes, but asking sounded so much nicer than demanding. Before Jenna, Hermione had to sort through all of her messages herself, which was quite a pain given that there could be anywhere from four to forty. Some required immediate attention, while others could stand to wait a while. She had prioritized them and made the necessary calls, but that had taken up most of her morning. The first thing Jenna had done when she started working for Hermione was come up with a system for her messages. If Jenna thought they were of a personal matter or if they were of dire importance, she would give those first. The rest Jenna would handle – making, rescheduling and canceling appointments and so forth.

"Don't you always," she said with a smirk, following Hermione into her office and closing the door.

Hermione's office was very large and painted a nice lavender color, with beige carpeting. The entire left wall was a window that allowed her a fantastic view of the city, but that no one could see into – a nice charm she had put in place upon being hired. Straight ahead, the wall was lined with bookshelves and, of course, filled to the ceiling with books from all over the world. Hermione had read each of them at least a dozen times. The middle of her office was taken up by a very large mahogany desk, which currently had paperwork spread all over it. Her walls were littered with art pieces that she found particularly interesting, or just simply beautiful to look at. The goal in décor for her office was calm, as she knew her job would be anything but.

"Let's see...You have one from Mr. McLaggen. He asked me to 'express upon her the urgency of this message and be sure that she calls me back as soon as she gets it'," she read verbatim from her notepad. McLaggen had been after her job for years, and every call was regarding something he "needed help" on. Hermione knew the real reason was to get her to go to lunch with him, and she refused to give him the satisfaction.

"Ugh, Merlin. You'd think after all these months of me not calling him back that he would get the hint. Next?" Hermione asked as she was straightening her desk and removing papers she'd had to take home the previous night from her briefcase. She tried to make everything look as neat as possible, but there was only so much she could do aside from setting it all on fire.

"Your mother called to remind you that your father's appointment is tomorrow at noon, and to not be late."

Ah, yes. Her father. Mr. Granger had been diagnosed with cancer a year ago, and after one round of treatment didn't work, they were running out of options. The appointment Jenna was referring to was one with a specialist about their next move. His cancer was progressing fast and they wanted to stop it before it metastasized any further, causing any more damage.

"And finally, a message from Mr. Ron Weasley requesting your attendance at dinner this evening."

Ron. After the war, they had tried their very best to make a relationship work, but found that it just was not possible. With her demanding career causing her to have very little free time and his lack of ability to emotionally invest himself, the relationship was doomed before it could start. They had given it a shot for just shy of two years before both decided to call it quits, completely devastating Mrs. Weasley who had been all but certain that they would get married and have wonderful red-headed grand-babies. Unfortunately, this made dinners at the Burrow very awkward and Hermione tried to avoid them altogether.

"Please tell Mr. McLaggen that I am not interested, _again,_ tell my mother that I wouldn't miss it for the world and politely decline Ron's offer. I have a feeling that after tonight, I'm not going to have much time or energy to enjoy going to dinner with anyone, " she sighed.

Hermione worked as the head of the Being Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and had successfully revolutionized the way house elves lived. She had established a minimum wage for them in accordance with the standard of living currently in London, and for those house elves that refused to be free, she made laws forcing families to provide adequate food, clothing and shelter. The first year after these laws were enacted was a tough one because not many pure-blood families felt that they owed their house elves anything, and refused to abide by the new regulations. After several hefty fines were issued and highly publicized, all proceeds going to the Rehabilitation of Mentally and Physically Ill House Elves fund of course, families were much more willing to give their house elves a break.

While she loved her current work, even she had come to realize that she could accomplish far greater than those she had been doing the last several years. Not that her work for the house elves was unimportant; she had been working for their equality and freedom for years. However, anyone could do this job. Hermione had always felt that she was destined to change the world, and continued to strive for it. Fortunately, Minister Shacklebolt felt the same way when he had come to her not two weeks prior offering her a promotion into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to revamp their current ways of working. She had graciously accepted, and afterward he had contacted the media in order to have a scheduled press conference to announce. No one knew of her promotion other than Kingsley, Jenna and herself.

"Of course, Ma'am. And might I add my congratulations," Jenna winked, as she walked back to her desk.

Hermione just rolled her eyes and took a long drink from her coffee while glancing at her clock. 7:59. Kingsley should-

"Good morning Miss Granger," Kingsley said as he made his way swiftly into her office and took a seat in front of her desk. With a wave of his wand, the door was shut and a silencing charm was put in place to keep wandering ears from overhearing some news that wasn't quite ready to become public.

"Good morning, Minister. I've prepared my speech as you suggested and am ready when you are," she began. She was nervous beyond belief, but she wasn't willing to show him that. She needed him to know that she was confident and unwavering.

"Ah, yes. I'm glad. Well, I suppose we better get to it then. The press will be in the lobby at approximately 8:30, and I've let them know that we will be arriving together. Now, not that you haven't done this a thousand and one times being part of the golden trio and all, please remember to smile and wave, even if they've asked you the same question ten times. Try and steer clear of questions regarding what it is you'll be doing exactly, and focus more on how pleased you are to have your accomplishments recognized."

"Sounds brilliant. Would you like some coffee before we head down? Jenna has a pot made and can bring you a cup if you'd like," she offered. He looked tired, and not in the sleep kind of way. She could only imagine how stressful a job like Minister for Magic could be.

"I'd love some, but I think I'll get it myself. Thank you for the offer, and be sure and meet me at the lift in fifteen minutes."

He got up and removed the silencing charm before heading towards the break room down the hall to his left. Hermione took this time to lean her head back on her chair and take a much needed deep breath. She could do this.

"Mr. Weasley, please, if you could just come back later-" she heard Jenna say. Hermione's eyes opened and narrowed at her guest, but she kept her head laid back on her chair. Unfortunately, the door to her office was a straight shot from the lift, so anyone coming off could see if she was in her office when the door was open. Jenna's desk was to the left, so she couldn't do much in the way of stopping someone from entering her office if they so chose.

"I'm not coming back later, Jenna," he snapped, "She's been ignoring my owls for weeks and won't return my phone calls. I'm going in there."

Jenna sighed and took a chance glance at Hermione, who looked exhausted. She always overworked herself, and Jenna wished there was something she could do about it. She was going to miss Hermione after she left for the second floor, and the Minister still hadn't announced who was going to replace her. Jenna just hoped it wasn't that McLaggen fellow...

"Ron," Hermione said, her voice showing the frustration she felt at having him in her office unannounced.

He slammed the door shut and stomped over to her desk, putting his hands on the edge and eying her angrily.

"Hermione. Why in the bloody hell won't you go to dinner with me? This is the third time you've declined in two weeks!" he yelled.

"Ron," she sighed again, "I don't have time tonight and I didn't have time last week when you asked me, either. Today is going to be a big day for me, and I'm going to be tired and want to go home. I will send you an owl when I'm ready."

"What do you mean, 'today is going to be a big day' for you?" He looked suspiciously at her, trying to figure out what she was hiding.

The clock on her wall picked a perfect moment to chime. It was charmed to chime every time there was an appointment it heard and knew she needed to be at; a wonderful gift from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley when they found out that she got her job at the Ministry.

"I'd love to continue this conversation, but as it stands, I have a prior engagement. If you'll excuse me," she said as she took one more long drink of coffee and stood up, straightening her skirt as she walked towards the lift. He continued to watch her closely, and stomped in with her, clearly displeased at her dismissal. For a moment it looked as though he were about to continue their conversation, but when the Minister got on, he shut his trap pretty quickly. He and Harry had gotten into some trouble on the last mission for endangering themselves and their team while trying to save some civilians from a death eater attack. While Death Eaters were not common to come by, they did still exist and sometimes picked fights with unsuspecting citizens. Kingsley had not been pleased at the news and had suspended Ron and Harry both for a week.

The ride to the lobby was a slow one, but as soon as the doors opened, all three were bombarded with questions, flashing, and the familiar clicks of cameras. Despite the fact that Hermione had spent the past several years of her life dealing with the press, having her life publicized was never something she quite could get used to. With a deep breath, she plastered a smile on her face, stepped out of the lift and prepared herself to receive the promotion she had been so eagerly awaiting.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**

Chapter two! See, we're already getting longer than the first one. ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own the wonderfully magical world of Harry Potter, nor its characters.

 **xxx**

After the press conference, Hermione's day had been a blur of owls, emails, and phone calls all full of congratulations for her new promotion. She tried to respond to every one as quickly and politely as she could, but there were entirely too many to answer in one day. There was an auto-response message set up for the emails, Jenna handled the phone messages and also prioritized the owls by most urgent to respond. When Hermione finally made it home at half past six, she barely had time to feed Crookshanks before exhaustion took over and she fell into bed.

Friday morning came early, especially considering how drained Hermione was from the previous day. She woke up with a terrible feeling of anxiety about her father's impending doctor's visit, knowing that there would be bad news. His last appointment had been a few weeks prior and was supposed to tell them that the treatment had worked and that he had beaten the cancer. The cancer was supposed to have shrunk, or to at least stop metastasizing, so that surgery could be planned to remove it. As it happened, the tumor was as strong as ever and was barely touched by the treatment. Dr. Watkins had then recommended that they see a specialist, Dr. Redd, who would be able to give them a better idea of their next steps.

Hermione's mother had been devastated and was convinced that her husband was dying. Surprisingly, Mr. Granger had been pretty optimistic about everything. Hermione knew he was faking to please her mother, but she was thankful that he was at least feeling well enough to fake it.

The appointment with the specialist was at noon, and Hermione made it a point to leave her office at eleven fifteen so as not to be late, even though the office was a mere twenty minutes away. She didn't want to give her mother another excuse to lecture her.

Over the past year, it seemed as though Mrs. Granger had become increasingly less happy with the decisions Hermione made. She was not pleased with her daughter's career choice, and would have much preferred her to become a professor – something simple. She also wasn't too keen on her breakup with Ron, who she thought hung the moon. Hermione's father hadn't minded that they had broken things off; he and Ron never quite could agree on anything, and the fact that Ron only ever wanted to talk about Quidditch didn't help.

Mrs. Granger had definitely been more moody than usual, but Hermione chalked it up to stress caused by her father's condition and left it at that. She didn't have time to question her mother's every moves, so she decided to drop it. If she had a problem, she would say something.

As Hermione walked into the waiting room at eleven forty-five, she immediately noticed how different everything looked in comparison to Mr. Granger's other doctor's office. Where Mr. Watkins' was color schemed white and beige, this one was light blue and gray. There was dark gray carpeting instead of the usual white tile, and the typical hospital smell that so often lingered in any place of medical treatment wasn't present. Instead, a scent of flowers filled the room. Hermione walked over to where her mother and father were already seated, her mother reading a magazine and her father with his eyes closed leaning his head back against the wall, and was greeted by her mother first.

"Hermione, dear, how nice of you to make it. Actually early for once?" Her tone was full of sarcasm as she flipped the page in her magazine.

"Hello, Mum," Hermione sighed as she put her briefcase down and sat on the other side of her father, "nice to see you too."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," her mother added, "I was only joking."

Somehow, Hermione didn't believe that. Her father's welcoming was much warmer.

"Hello, darling," he said as he leaned over and hugged her. "How's the new promotion going? Save the world yet?"

"Of course," she said, rolling her eyes, "my first day on the job and I've already managed to save the world."

This time he laughed out loud and patted her hand with his. She smiled back and, for a moment, forgot the reason that they were all here. It wasn't until her father's name was called that she was brought back to reality.

"Mr. Walter Granger," called a young nurse, looking up from her clipboard and smiling in their direction. There weren't too many other people waiting so Hermione assumed it couldn't have been too hard to figure out who was who by their charts.

The entire Granger family got up and walked behind the door separating the waiting room from a long corridor. Families were not allowed in the exam rooms, but since they were there for a consultation the doctor and staff had kindly made a concession.

They followed the nurse down the rather long corridor and stopped at a door on their left. Inside was a spacious room, complete with a coffee bar and a large conference table. Mrs. Granger immediately went to the coffee bar and started doctoring two cups – presumably one for herself and Mr. Granger.

The nurse smiled at them again saying that they doctor would be in momentarily before leaving them.

Hermione walked over to the conference table and took a seat. She tried to mentally prepare herself for the conversation that was soon to follow, but found that every time she thought about it she would get teary.

"Hermione, would you like any coffee?" her father asked.

"No, thank you," she said. Nothing sounded particularly pleasing.

It wasn't until her parents were half way finished with their coffee that the specialist walked in. He was a very tall man with dark brown hair and blue eyes, looking to be in his early thirties. Hermione thought it interesting that he could already specialize given his age, but then remembered that she was head of a division at the Ministry and was only twenty-one.

"Good morning," he said, showing bright white teeth and walking over to shake their hands.

"My name is Doctor Redd. Doctor Watkins sent me your file a couple of weeks ago, and I've looked it them thoroughly. Unfortunately, I have good news and bad news. Which would you like first?"

He directed his question at her father, waiting for him to make the decision.

"Bad I guess," Mr. Granger said as he placed a hand on his shaking knee.

"The bad news is, your cancer is spreading fast and there isn't much we can do to slow it down or stop it."

Her mother let out a sob and pulled a tissue from the box sitting in front of them. Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing that her mother was putting on a show. This was news they had heard from Dr. Watkins personally before they had been referred to the specialist.

"The good news is," Dr. Redd continued, "that there is an experimental trial and you seem to be a prime candidate."

Hermione's mother immediately stopped her sniffling and looked at the doctor in disbelief. Mr. Granger looked straight ahead, not showing any emotion and making it quite difficult to tell what he was thinking.

"What do you mean, 'experimental trial'?" her father asked evenly.

"Well, this treatment would be much like the one you had before. It will be intravenous, meaning it will still go through your port-a-cath, and your appointments will be the same as they were before. You'll come to the clinic for three or four days a week and receive treatment for around six months. The reason this trial is experimental is because the drugs being used are new and are currently in a clinical trial. Their success rate isn't nearly as high as other drugs, but seeing as we've used the drugs that are typically effective with your cancer already and they did nothing, I think this trial is now worth more consideration. The medicines being used have been designed to treat prostate cancer, specifically that which has metastasized to the bone, and at stage four which by your current scans, is exactly what you have. I'm hopeful that these specific medications will do as we had projected in your first round of treatment – stop the cancer from spreading."

The room was silent while each member of the Granger family took in what the doctor said. Hermione saw hope. Her father saw possibility. Her mother saw dollar signs.

"And how much exactly would something like this cost?" she asked rather rudely. Hermione leaned forward and shot her a look, effectively shutting her up.

"Well," he sighed, "that's the other bad news. This trial isn't free because the medicines haven't been approved through the NHS. They're still quite new and their success rate isn't as high is the NHS would like it to be, and with treatment being four days a week at six months, you would be looking at fifty-eight thousand pounds. If you chose to live at the facility instead of commute, it would be eighty one thousand, two hundred pounds. New Beginnings is a new building, and still has a few openings. You will essentially live in an apartment complex, but with a cancer center on the bottom floor. New Beginnings is on the outskirts of London, so I would recommend staying there."

Hermione's eyes went wide, as did her father's.

"What if we choose not to do the trial? What happens then?" her father asked.

"What do you mean 'not do the trial'," her mother said, "of course you're doing it!"

"If you choose not to participate in the trial, I'm afraid the outcome doesn't look good," Dr. Redd said. "We can always try the same treatment we did before, but I doubt you'll get the results you're hoping for. I know money is a concern, but there are programs out there for people who need financial help."

Dr. Redd handed Mr. Granger several brochures, all containing information about private donations and payment plans.

"It's always worth a shot to apply," the doctor finished. "Do any of you have any questions?"

Hermione was the one to speak up this time.

"Yes, when do you have to have your answer?"

"Preferably by Monday after next so that we can start treatment the following week," he said.

With that, Hermione, her mother, and her father shook Dr. Redd's hand and made their way back through the long corridor. They passed the same nurse that had showed them in, and Hermione offered her a weak smile. Once they all made it safely out of the office, Mr. Granger stopped and looked at his wife.

"Jean, we can't afford this," he said.

"Of course we can!" she yelled back at him. "It's for your health, Walter. We will make do."

She turned on her heel and stomped away. Hermione knew that her parents had savings, but she also knew that they had used most of it in Australia. They still had some, but she doubted if it was enough to cover the expense of treatment and living at the facility for six months. Both had intended to go back into dentistry, but her father had been diagnosed so soon after returning to London and having his Obliviated memory restored that neither had a chance. Her mother expected Hermione to stay home and take him to his visits three times a week, but her father wouldn't let her quit her job at the Ministry. He knew how much she loved it and knew the difference she was making in her world – he wouldn't let anything come in between that. Likewise, he wouldn't allow Hermione to use the money she had received from the Ministry to help either.

Mr. Granger turned to his daughter and handed her the applications for private donations and the payment plan information.

"Here," he sighed, "you take these. If I take them home, Jean will just pick through them and find a flaw in each one. Look through them if you have time and let me know which ones your favorites are."

She took the brochures carefully, as if they would ignite at any moment. It felt odd, the fact that he was having her make such a life altering decision. Hermione looked up at her father and noticed that the dark circles which had once been mere shadows, were now solid and unforgiving. She wondered how much he actually slept at night.

"You know I will," she said as she tucked them into a side pocket of her briefcase. "Go home and get some rest. I'll call you when I've found one."

She leaned in and hugged him tight before turning around and heading back towards the Ministry. She still had four hours before she could go home, and the pile of work on her desk that never seemed to get any smaller would have to have a significant dent in it before she would leave with a good conscience.

 **xxx**

Lucius Malfoy sat at his dining room table, as he did every day for lunch, at eleven forty five. Narcissa had come up with a meal schedule that he and Draco were supposed to abide by, but it seemed as though Lucius was the only one who feared Narcissa's wrath enough to listen.

When Draco graduated from Hogwarts, his parents had been generous enough to gift him the entire second floor to live on, which was laid out much like the first. After walking up one of the split stair cases, his foyer, drawing room, library, sitting room, study were all to the left, and seven bedrooms, including one master suite, and five bathrooms were to the right. The only difference between his level and the main level was the lack of kitchen, which his floor made up for with extra space in the master suite. Narcissa insisted that Draco ate meals with his family – breakfast at seven, lunch at midday, and supper at six – so that she would get to see her son on a daily basis. Draco never made it for breakfast and only occasionally for lunch. Supper seemed to be the only meal he wasn't gone or hungover for.

His years after graduating were supposed to be a time to grow up and mature, but for Draco they were a string of late nights and women. He spent almost every night in a different pub, and every night he went out he brought home a different woman. Lucius knew because he would catch them sneaking out around breakfast time the next morning, not bothering to stay and introduce themselves. Most of them were sloppy and unattractive, but every once in a while Lucius would catch a glimpse of a girl who looked like she could have had potential. He never saw the same girl twice.

Narcissa, sick of the string of tasteless women, set Draco up on a date with Astoria Greengrass the previous summer, a few weeks after she had graduated. He went on one date with her and came home with a nasty look stuck on his face, refusing to explain to his family what had happened. He'd walked up the steps to his floor, stomped down the hallway to his room and slammed the door. He didn't come down for the rest of the evening – not even to go out. To Narcissa's knowledge, the two hadn't spoken since. She had asked Rhea, Astoria's mother, the next day to find the witch just as bewildered as she. Rhea tried to talk to her daughter, but Astoria refused to answer any questions when it came to Draco. Both mothers found that extremely curious, but neither pushed.

As Lucius sat there, thinking of the choices his son had made over the years, he couldn't help but think of the choices Draco still had _not_ made. Draco would turn twenty one in a little over one month, which meant that he was to take over the company. Unfortunately, Draco was ineligible due to his marital status. Abraxas Malfoy, Lucius' late father, had started their company as an investment firm. Well off wizards from all over the world placed money into Malfoy Investment Co. for safe keeping – some expecting full repayment plus interest in years time and some as a donation to rid themselves from the taxes of it all. The donations went to several hospitals and treatment clinics, while the investments went towards up and coming companies who needed some help getting their feet off the ground.

Abraxas had been ready to step down as head of the company and take more of a supervisor role. He'd wanted his son to take over, but knew that marriage and children had been the furthest things from Lucius' young mind. Abraxas then created the Marriage Clause to force Lucius to marry and settle down, lest he forfeit any right to the company or its proceeds. Essentially, Lucius would be cast out from the family, never to return. Of course, this encouraged Lucius to find a wife, and of the three candidates presented to him by his father, he had chosen Narcissa Black. Six months after their first date they were married, and six months after that Lucius had inherited the role of Head of Malfoy Investment Co. Unfortunately for Draco, he had a mere five weeks to find a wife, marry her, and take over the company.

Narcissa had pushed Lucius to make a change to the Marriage Clause, begging him not to force their son to marry. Her one regret in life was that she did not have the opportunity to fall in love before marriage, and she did not want to force her son to endure the same hardships. Lucius did not care about his son's happiness, or the hardships that he may or may not have to endure – he cared only for the Malfoy name, and that it not be tarnished by his son's inability to find a decent wife.

Lucius had talked with Draco several times on the idea off marriage, and every time Draco had stalked off before his father could explain how imperative it was that he marry before twenty-one. Over the past several years, Malfoy Investment Co. had begun to crumble. Investors wanted their returns, prospective investors turned away uninterested, and donors wanted nothing to do with them, all because of their last name. The company had been performing well and was producing excellent results until the war, which had crippled the economy. People were still trying to rebuild – including the Malfoys. Their choosing to side with Voldemort had also hindered their ability to keep their current investors and gain new clients.

After the war, Lucius and his family had changed sides and he'd been trying ever since to prove his non-prejudice against muggle-borns. The time for chauvinistic ways had long passed, and even Lucius knew that he would either have to adapt to the ever changing world or be left behind to rot in his old ways. He had done his part in changing by not using the term "mud-blood" and had attempted to sign several companies that were either led by or support muggle-borns. Being born into a family which promoted hatred, it was much harder for Lucius to conform to the belief that muggle-borns were equal to pure-bloods in every way, however, he could honestly say that he was giving his best effort. Unfortunately, no one believed Lucius when he said that he had changed, and none were willing to invest their money or take invested money from Malfoy Investment Co. The company was going down, and it would take a huge move to resurface it.

Lucius hoped that Draco's marriage would bring enough publicity to the company that would encourage potential investors to take them seriously. Lucius had considered on several occasions to arrange a marriage between Draco and a muggle-born witch, simply to show the world that the Malfoys were no longer a family full of pure-blood and self righteous pigs, but as he had not been raised around muggle-borns, he'd had no idea where to start looking for a prospective wife. Of course, he'd had many offers from pure-blood families, offering their daughters as wives but if Lucius was honest with himself, he knew that those girls would be no match for Draco.

In spite of all of his bad faults, Draco was not without talent. He had accomplished things that the kids in his class merely dreamed of. He had received NEWTs in both Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he'd mastered Occlumency, Legilimency, and non verbal magic all before his sixth year. He was strong willed and had a determined mind. Draco would need a wife just as intelligent, determined, and talented in order to keep him on his toes.

The flickering of several cameras flashing at once brought Lucius out of his thoughts, and he glanced down at the table where the morning edition of the Prophet still sat. There, on the front page, was a picture of that troublesome girl Granger, being bombarded by the press and graciously accepting her promotion. Lucius sneered at the photo. She had tried in vein to imprison him after the war for acts against muggle-borns and blood traitors. The court ruled in his favor because he had defected before Voldemort died, but that didn't stop her from fighting. That wretched girl went so far as to request another hearing - denied of course. She wanted to make him pay, and if he truly thought about his actions, he couldn't blame her. The article was about her promotion to the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Cameras were flashing in her face as she held onto her tight smile. A very poorly written article below the photo told him that her name was actually _Hermione,_ and that she was very pleased with this promotion and the direction it was taking her in life.

It took him a moment, but when the realization dawned on him that she was, in fact, a muggle-born, he couldn't ignore the fact that she was blindingly perfect. She had been neck and neck with Draco all throughout school, had earned several NEWTs, had a decent job at the Ministry, worked hard, and had an noticeable amount of determination. She would, in theory, be a perfect wife for Draco. The kind that would produce a brilliant bloodline capable of changing the world. However, he knew it would never work. Draco hated her from their rivalry in school and would never choose her if given the option. He would be more likely to choose that Parkinson girl, who everyone knew was trying to marry for money.

Actually, if Lucius presented his options just right, Draco could be forced to marry Granger. Although, that wouldn't mean that Granger would be willing to marry him. Lucius knew that everyone had skeletons in their closet, and was determined to find out what Hermione's were in the event that he could convince Draco to marry her. From what Lucius knew, she was a very bright witch and it would take nothing short of blackmail to convince her to marry the likes of a Malfoy.

With that, Lucius set the prophet back on the table, grabbed his cane and headed to his fireplace. He would have to miss lunch today, something he was sure Narcissa would yell at him for later, but he was determined to find out whatever he could on Miss Granger.

 **xxx**

 **A/N:**

Reviews make me happy!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**

Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! I truly appreciate them, and try to respond to every one. However, if you are reviewing as a guest (not that there's anything wrong with that) I cannot respond because your review is not linked to an existing account. If you don't care, great! If you do, don't think I'm ignoring you! Anyway - enough babbling.

Disclaimer: I do not own the wonderfully magical world of Harry Potter, nor its characters.

 **xxx**

The first week after Hermione's promotion had been nothing short of mad. Her desk was littered with old projects yet to be completed, and new projects that seemed to pile up faster and faster as the hours went by. Originally, she had been told that she would have to change secretaries – she would lose Jenna who would stay in her old position and instead gain Adam, the wizard who'd been secretary in that position prior to Hermione's promotion. Although she was depressed that she wouldn't get to see Jenna everyday, she did consent if only for the simple fact that Adam had been in that position for so long and could probably offer her some helpful insight. It wasn't until he had lost 6 owls, "forgotten" to take down phone messages, and refused to learn the modern Muggle technology that she had insisted the Minister allow Jenna to be promoted with her as well.

It didn't take long for either Hermione or Jenna to get into a routine in the new office – they both worked exceptionally well together. In fact, not much had changed at all for Jenna other than the content of the messages she took down and the sort of people she dealt with on a daily basis. Hermione, however, was in entirely new territory and was learning the ropes as she went.

Friday had finally come, and with it a promise of no work to take home. It had taken a week, but both witches had finally gotten their office in order, meaning that it would be the first day since being promoted that they wouldn't be bringing files home to organize. The wizard who had held the office previously had apparently not believed in physical files, computer files, or any other sort of organizational tactic. Neither Hermione nor Jenna could find any record of Auror history, including rescues, failed missions, completed missions, missions yet to be completed, missions in progress, etc. The only upside was that they had essentially started over. They would get to choose how to organize their office in a way that seemed to work for them both, and going through every file gave them a chance to familiarize themselves with current issues.

"Hey, Jenna? Have you seen my stapler?" Hermione yelled from the chair in her office. That damn stapler went missing every five minutes, and if it didn't, it would miraculously run out of staples the very moment she needed it. She was fairly confident that it had been jinxed, she just hadn't had time to go out and buy a new one.

"No," Jenna yelled back, "did you try your top left drawer? That's where I usually find it when I need it."

Hermione opened the top left drawer and, sure enough, there was the stapler. She lifted the top portion only to find it completely void of staples. Brilliant. She walked out of her office and into Jenna's, a quaint little space that they had both managed to make quite inviting. Straight ahead was the door to the lift, similar to the layout of their old offices. To the right was Jenna's desk, a very large and much nicer version of the one she had moved from. To the left was an armchair, magazine rack and a rather large plant. They had painted both offices a nice deep blue, and with the dark wood furniture and pristine white carpet, it really was one of the nicer offices in the Ministry.

"I need staples again. This bloody stapler is going to be the death of me," she said as she walked over towards Jenna, who's desk looked much like Hermione's – a chaotic mess. She was smiling cheekily at a text message she had just received. Jenna had also come from a Muggle family, and therefore used Muggle technology. Unfortunately, not many other wizards did so it was quite difficult to convince them that sending a simple text message or making a quick phone call without having to dodge secretaries was better than using owls.

"And who might that be?" Hermione said with a smirk, loading the staples she found in Jenna's drawer into her stapler.

Jenna rolled her eyes before responding, "The same man it's been for the past six months. He wants to take me out next weekend and I'm just not too sure about it."

"You mean in public?" Mystery Man, as Hermione had dubbed him, had been just that - a mystery. Jenna hadn't told a single person about him, including her family. The only reason Hermione knew was because every Monday without fail, he would send her flowers with a card that read, "To make your day better". The bouquets were not exactly subtle, and after receiving flowers from the same handwriting three different Mondays in a row, Hermione had confronted Jenna who immediately spilled, glad to have someone to share her secret with. Apparently, the two had met shopping for books at Whizz Hard Books in Diagon Alley when they struck up a conversation about a rather controversial book that neither wanted to end. He invited her to dinner, which she politely declined and instead gave him her phone number. Mystery Man was taken aback, but didn't argue for anything more as she walked away. A few days later, she had received a call from a rather loud wizard, wondering if she was, in fact, the Jenna he had met in the bookstore. She knew at once that he was special. What wizard, pure-blood at that, would be willing to go out and buy a Muggle phone just to talk to her?

According to Jenna, he was the only son from a family of pure-blood chauvinists who would denounce him from the family if they found out he was seeing a mud-blood. He and Jenna had talked about that at length, and he always swore that he would leave his family if it meant being with her out in the open. It was her choice to keep their relationship a secret, which she did. She always said she just wasn't quite ready to deal with the publicity of it all. They'd had to make all of their dates and time together as private as possible, which usually meant staying in at her flat and having food delivered.

"Yup," Jenna said, "in public. I don't know what to do 'Mione. I mean, he's a sweet guy and all, but the world would absolutely freak if they knew that he and I were together. And I mean 'freak' with a capital 'F'. He's not exactly the type of guy you bring home to Mum, you know?"

"You can't let him hide behind you forever, Jen. You've got to come clean. If he's willing to live with the world's reaction, why can't you?" Hermione watched as Jenna sat there for a moment, absorbing the advice.

"Okay, fine," Jenna said, smiling cheekily at her phone and sending a quick text, "He's been trying to get me to come with him to Pierre's next Saturday, but I won't come unless you do! So bring a date," she said slyly. Jenna had been trying to get Hermione to go out ever since she and Ron had split up nearly a year ago, but she had declined at every advance making some excuse about work or other plans.

The look of disdain Hermione's face must have been enough for Jenna, who stood up rather abruptly, causing Hermione to take a step back.

"Hermione Jean Granger, I will not allow you to stand there and deny me, yet _again_ might I add, a wonderful weekend with my friend. You always claim to be too busy or too tired or too something, and end up flaking out on me. Next Saturday I'm going to be a nervous wreck and I'm going to need you. So, for me, I'm asking you to say yes. Go out with me and my Mystery Man. Bring a date or don't, but for Merlin's sake, do NOT stay home and sulk over the relationship you were never going to have with Ron!"

Hermione stood there for a moment, watching her friend breathe heavily through flared nostrils. There really was no reason to stay home next weekend. Their office was almost completely organized, and within another weeks time, she had no doubt that it would be impeccable. Her personal life was lacking – what with her breakup with Ron and her spat with Harry, she really had no friends left other than Jenna.

When she and Ron had decided to end things, Harry had completely disagreed with their decision and practically begged them to give it another shot. Hermione and Ron both tried to explain to him that there really was nothing worth fighting for, but he wouldn't believe it. Even the Weasleys knew that she and Ron had been forcing it, but Harry had been oblivious. She still kept in contact with Ginny, but very rarely given the fact that Harry had basically forbidden any talk of Hermione or Ron in their house. She wasn't even sure if he went to the Burrow any more for weekly dinners – she stopped going as soon as the breakup to ease the tension.

"Alright," Hermione said, "I'll go. But I'm not bringing a date!" She meant every word. No matter how uncomfortable she may be as a third wheel, she would do this for her friend because Jenna needed her. However, she would not be bringing a date.

"Oh, yay!" Jenna squealed, "You won't regret it. He's had Pierre's reserved for weeks and I'm sure they wouldn't mind adding one to the reservation. Now, we only have an hour until five, and I really want to get out of here on time. So take the stapler, and finish what you're doing so we can leave," Jenna said as she walked back to her desk. Chuckling at her friend's enthusiasm, Hermione did as she was told and headed back to her office.

She shut the door behind her and worked in silence for the next thirty minutes, preparing file folders and setting up her computer. No one in the entire department had a computer, and it was her first duty as Head of Department to make sure everyone had one. Emails really were so much quicker than owls.

Suddenly, Hermione could hear Jenna shuffling from behind the door, and before she could open it to see what was going on, it opened itself to reveal none other than the devil himself. The smile on his face really was quite disturbing.

"Ah, Miss Granger," he said, "I was just chatting with your assistant when she told me that you had left for the weekend. What a pleasant surprise." He aimed a sharp look at Jenna before looking back at Hermione expectantly.

Hermione had not seen Lucius Malfoy since his trial three years ago after the war. Looking at his thinning hair and sagging skin, she noticed how unkind time had been to him. His eyes, which use to be full of hatred and fire, now looked tired. He was leaning more heavily on his cane and his breathing was hardly even. Hermione began to wonder if he would fall out right there on her floor, but then remembered that she quite simply didn't give a damn.

Jenna was standing right behind him and added, "She _is_ leaving, and she is not taking visitors! I will not hesitate to call the Auror department and tell them - "

"It's okay, Jenna. I can't imagine whatever he has to say will take very long," Hermione said, staring him up and down. Curiosity and pity over anything else caused her to motion to the chair in front of her, offering him a seat.

Lucius didn't even glance at Jenna before stepping into Hermione's office, waiving his cane to shut the door, and taking a seat in one of the two plush armchairs.

"How can I help you this evening, Mister Malfoy?"

He looked into her eyes and Hermione noticed something she hadn't seen before – determination.

"I'd love the formality of small talk, but neither one of us has the time for that so let's just get to it. I'm here to offer you a solution. You see, it seems as though you've gotten yourself into quite a predicament. I just got back from a lovely meeting with a Doctor Redd- "

She didn't even try to hide the shock on her face or the venom in her voice.

"Excuse me?" She hissed. No one was supposed to know about her father. Even though the war was over and Voldemort had fallen, Hermione still had enemies – which is why she was so hesitant to tell anyone. Death Eaters were not a common occurrence, but they were still out there. There had been several attempted attacks on her, along with Harry and Ron, after the war ended. Some attacks came from Death Eaters and others came from muggle-born hate groups, but she was always prepared. She did her best to hide her parents from the world, knowing that if the wrong side heard of her weakness, they would not hesitate to play her on it.

"Really Miss Granger, it is quite rude to interrupt someone when they're trying to help you. As I was saying-"

"Trying to help me?" She stood up from her chair and put either hand on the side of her desk. Her eyes dared him to stand up, but he remained seated. She continued anyway.

"How on Earth could _you_ , a foul and insolent excuse for a man, help me?" She spat.

He waited a long moment before responding, showing no emotion on his sick-looking face.

"I am _trying_ to tell you. Now, Miss Granger, I am going to continue my proposition without interruption, or I will walk away and you will never know the terms." He waited again for her to respond. She was fuming as she sat down and crossed her arms and legs, but did not say anything. She would hear him out because her parents taught her to respect people, even if they didn't deserve it. He _had traveled_ all the way here, the least she could do was listen.

"As I said before, I've just come from a wonderful little meeting with Doctor Redd, who was kind enough to tell me all about your father and his experimental treatment," he began. Noticing the paranoid look on her face, he hastily added, "No need to worry; his memory has been wiped and he will have no recollection of our conversation. He explained to me the clinical trial and the money you needed to participate. He also mentioned to me that you took several pamphlets containing information on private donors."

Hermione glanced under her desk at her briefcase, whose buckling side contained the same pamphlets he was referring to.

"Now, as I'm sure you know, Malfoy & Co. handles exactly that sort of business. There are very well off wizards in this world, who wish nothing more than to help people such as your father. As he is not a wizard, it would be fairly difficult for him to gain financial help in a normal circumstance. However, being who I am and having the capability to pull strings here and there, I can make sure that his application is pushed in the right direction and is accepted without a second thought. Any expenses the private donor cannot cover, not that there should be any, I would be glad to take care of, of course."

Her face showed no emotion other than hatred as she said, "What do you want, Lucius?"

"Are we on a first name basis now? Lovely. Hermione," she flinched as her given name fell from his mouth, but he continued without a second thought. "I'm here to offer you a way to the money and my silence. I will tell no one of your father's condition and I will not let it slip who is pushing so hard for his application. I only ask one thing in return."

He waited for her to ask, and when she didn't, he continued.

"Now that I think about it, I'd like to ask two things. First, I ask that you remain calm, as I'm sure that my request will come as quite a shock."

"Just get on with it," she spat. There was no use in drawing out the inevitable.

He smirked at her overzealousness and said, "It seems as though I have a bit of a predicament myself. I am ready to step down as head of the company and let my son lead in my place, which is quite unfortunate given that he does not meet the established criteria. You see, an heir will inherit the company at twenty-one if, and only if, he is married. If he chooses not to accept the company at twenty-one or is not married, he will forfeit all rights to its future in addition to his entire inheritance. Draco has not searched for a wife, nor does he see the importance of finding one so soon; therefore, I have found one for him."

The silence in that room was deafening as Lucius waited for Hermione to understand the meaning of his visit, hoping quietly to himself that he would not have to speak the dreaded words out loud. Only when she made no move to speak did Lucius take a breath and sum up the reason for his visit.

"Miss Granger, I would like for you to marry my son."

There was a very long moment where Hermione let the words sink in and studied Lucius' face for any sign of humor. His weak eyes looked unsure, and his skin went paler, if at all possible. He began to shake his knee – a nervous tic she remembered Draco having in school during exams. She waited for him to crack a smile. To say that this was all a joke and that he really wanted her to assassinate the Minister in exchange for the money. Instead, she was met with another bout of deafening silence. She knew he was not going to be the one to break it this time, so she took that honor upon herself.

"You have got to be _fucking_ kidding me."

Lucius looked quite put out by her sudden lack of filter, but continued nonetheless.

"No, Hermione-"

"Miss Granger," she corrected.

"Miss Granger, then," he continued, "I am not fooling you. This seems the best solution given the problems we both have. You've broken up with that read headed weasel, and are now currently available. I'm assuming you want to make a career out of the Ministry, which means that a strong name behind you could never hurt. This situation grants us both the ability to get what we need," he said.

"So just to clarify then, you would like me to uproot my entire life and marry your son, and in turn you will save my father's life? Essentially, Draco will gain a company, a wife, and a fortune and I will drop my family, my flat and my freedom to move to the manor and play house wife? Seems a bit like I'm getting the short end of the stick here, Malfoy. I appreciate your offer," she said out of obligation, "but I'll find a way to make the money on my own."

"Ah, yes, but that would mean that you would have to ask for help, and you won't. You're much too proud and you don't want your friends to know. Why do you think that is?" He cocked his head as though he were thinking hard.

"Lucius, I don't appreciate you coming into my office and questioning my motives. I certainly never asked why you became a Death Eater, and would _you_ like to know why that is? Because it's none of my damn business," she cocked her head to the side just as he head done. One of them was going to leave sorely disappointed, and she had no intention of it being her.

"Whether it is of my business or not, the fact is that I now know. I will not engage in arguments with you, Miss Granger. You know my offer, and it will stand as late as Monday at five in the evening. You have three days to decide, and if you accept my deal, I will personally deliver your father's application to our board. You know where to find me," he finished.

With that, Lucius stood up and waved his wand over the door, clearly removing a silencing charm she hadn't even noticed had been placed as he walked out. He practically knocked over Jenna, who'd had her ear shamelessly pressed against it trying to hear just an inkling of the conversation going on inside.

He continued without stopping until he reached the lift and after pushing the button, he turned.

"One other thing, Miss Granger. I will tell no one of this meeting if you won't. It'll be our little secret," he winked as he took a step back onto the lift. She eyed him and tightly nodded as the door closed.

She felt as though she was going to throw up, and quickly grabbed for her wastebasket. Jenna ran over and immediately began interrogating, plopping herself down in the chair that Lucius Malfoy had just vacated.

"What in the bloody hell did he want? You two were in here for one hell of a long time and I couldn't hear a word! Was it anything important? Why did he put a silencing charm up? Would you like a glass of water?"

Hermione replaced her wastebasket and leaned her head back in her chair. If she told Jenna the truth, it would mean potentially putting her entire family in jeopardy, but it would also mean that she would finally have someone to talk to. She had the feeling Crookshanks was getting tired of hearing about her sorry life. Hermione had always considered Jenna a friend, and had never once known of a time when Jenna had lied to her; in the same breath, she had also never entrusted Jenna with such a large and important secret. She could always tell Jenna a lie - that Mr. Malfoy had come to see her regarding a business deal or something of the sort. That would keep Jenna out of all the dirty details, but it would also mean that Hermione would be lying to her one and only friend.

Hermione picked her head up from where it had been leaning against her chair, and stared Jenna directly in the eyes. She could see nothing but worry and compassion.

"Can I trust you?" she asked.

"What kind of question is that?" Jenna retorted, looking taken aback. "Of course you can trust me. I told you my absolute deepest darkest secret – if I thought we didn't trust each other, I would have never said anything. What's going on, 'Mione?"

Hermione took a deep breath and started at the beginning. She told Jenna of erasing her parents' memories and sending them to Australia, not knowing if she would ever see them again; explained that for the first six months after the war that she was afraid to leave her flat without an escort because angry Death Eaters would try and kill her; gave the story on her father's cancer and how it was now at the point where a clinical trial was the only chance he had; and finally, she told Jenna of the deal Lucius Malfoy had just proposed. Essentially, her father's chance at life in exchange for her own freedom.

When she was done, Hermione put her elbows on her desk and her head in her hands, hoping that Jenna wouldn't be angry that she'd kept so much.

"Holy shit," Jenna breathed.

"Exactly."

"'Mione, I wish you would have told me sooner. Honestly, I'm surprised you've made it this long without completely breaking down. First, I want to say how sorry I am about your dad. I noticed that your mother was calling more frequently, and I would be lying if I said I never heard you cry in your office. I never asked because I just assumed it was stress from the job or something..." Jenna had tears in her eyes as it finally dawned on her how much her friend had gone through in the past few years.

"Anyway," she continued as she wiped the now falling tears from her cheeks, "what are you going to do about Draco? He's down right awful! Don't you remember how he treated us back in school?"

Jenna had been a year or two behind Hermione, Harry, Ron and Draco, but was a Ravenclaw. She was a petite girl who always had her long brown hair tied into a bun on top of her head. She'd worn it this way as long as Hermione could remember, and was teased endlessly about it by Malfoy and his crew.

"Believe me," Hermione said, "I remember. I just don't know what other choice I have. I could always take the chance and see if Dad's application would draw a donor on its own, but this really is the best way to make sure his treatment gets paid for. Not only that, but we're not even sure if this is going to work. The doctor said he was hopeful, but that doesn't mean much."

"Merlin, Hermione. I don't know. I really wish I could be of more help," Jenna said, standing up and conjuring some water in an empty cup Hermione had sitting on her desk. "I can't imagine how hard this decision must be," she said tentatively, "but if I were you...I'd do it."

The shock was evident on Hermione's face. "You would? Why?"

"Because it's only marriage. You never really had intentions of having kids anyway, and Merlin knows you wouldn't want any with Malfoy. His manor is huge and if you played your cards right, you'd never see him. Sure, you'd have to see each other for outings and you'd have to pretend to be a happy couple in public, but at home you could just ignore each other. Arranged marriages are very common. My mum and dad had an arranged marriage, and they turned out just fine. Even ended up falling in love and having a wonderful daughter. Who knows," she winked, "maybe the two of you could fall in love." Jenna turned around and walked back to her office, shaking her head at the laugh she heard coming from her boss's office.

"Yeah right, Jenna, and then maybe we'll have five bloody kids and live happily ever after," Hermione said, rolling her eyes and gather paperwork to take home. Her impromptu meeting with Lucius meant that she would have to work from home. Again.

"I know it isn't exactly ideal, and he was a total arse in school, but he might have changed. And even if he hasn't, that manor is literally massive. You could live there and never actually see him," Jenna said, also gathering some paperwork to take home.

"I know," said Hermione, "and I'm going to seriously think about it." Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, living at the manor.

Both witches got on the lift and pressed the button for the bottom floor, stopping at the floor beneath them to pick up none other than Ron Weasley. Hermione inwardly groaned at the awkwardness she knew he would bring.

"Hermione," he said, "are you ever going to answer my owls?" His eyes looked genuinely hurt as he asked.

"Yes, Ron, I will as soon as I find the time," she sighed, "I know you've been wanting us to have dinner for the last few weeks, but I'm honestly too tired. Between getting my office together and working on all of this bloody paperwork, I never have time to do anything anymore," she said as she glanced down at her briefcase and frowned.

He nodded, "I get it. You're busy. Just don't forget about me, alright?"

She smiled up at him, the first genuine smile she'd given him in a while. "I won't. I just need time to get settled."

As the door to the lift opened, all three got out and headed for the floo network. Hermione and Jenna walked to the end to give them more time to talk.

"Hey, Hermione," Jenna said, "Like I said before, I know this must be hard, but I would seriously consider taking Malfoy's offer. Mystery Man and I don't have plans this weekend, so just let me know if you need a girls night."

"I will, Jen. I really can't thank you enough for being such a great friend," Hermione smiled.

Jenna winked and said, "Don't mention it," before flooing to her flat.

Hermione stared at the fireplace, wishing she could go anywhere but home. The only thing there to greet her was Crookshanks and her impending future. She sighed for what seemed to be the thousandth time that day, and grabbed a fistfull of powder yelling, "HOME!"

 **xxx**

 **A/N:**

Reviews are always greatly appreciated, and are usually accompanied by a response with a spoiler ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**

Sorry it's taken twice as long as I thought, but thank you all for your wonderful reviews! As always, thanks to my super awesome beta, Hip, for his ability to turn a chapter around faster than I ever hoped. So let the drama begin!

Disclaimer: I do not own the wonderful world of Harry Potter, nor the characters in it. However, I do own all original characters.

 **xxx**

Lucius had been up half the night attempting to convince his ignorantly romantic wife that their son's loveless marriage would not ruin his life. She'd begged and pleaded with him for hours not to go through with forcing Draco into such an arrangement, or to at least figure out a way out. Lucius explained to her countless times that Abraxas was not the sort of person to leave a loophole in a contract, especially one that held the future of the family's company. Nevertheless, he brought her a copy of it to look through and only when she found nothing after hours and hours of searching did she look at Lucius with tears in her eyes, nodding her head reluctantly. She knew that her husband's plan was the only way.

He tried to console her by explaining how pointless love really was. It's cruel and unwavering relentlessness could bring even the most powerful man to his knees. Love is giving another person, if even for a moment, the potential to destroy anything and everything held most dear. Love is merely a bargaining tool used to get one's way. Narcissa had fought him hard on this, claiming that love was a tangible thing felt by the most fortunate of souls. Clearly, his soul had not made the cut.

Tired of her incessant nagging, Lucius begrudgingly agreed to offer Draco two additional choices of bride, allowing his son to have at least a slight say in his own future. Unbeknownst to his incognizant wife, Lucius had actually selected two women worse than Granger – to ensure that Draco would still pick her.

Bright and early Saturday morning, both Malfoys sat at the dining table in silence; Lucius reading The Prophet and Narcissa enjoying a hot cup of tea. They were disrupted by their house elf, Tildy, tearing through the dining room clutching a letter to his heaving chest.

"You has a letter, Master," he breathed heavily, skidding to a stop a few feet away from Lucius.

"Well hand it over, then," Lucius sighed. Honestly, a letter was hardly a reason to disrupt breakfast, and in such a distasteful manner.

Tildy took the two steps the remained slowly, the intense look of concentration evident on his wrinkled face as he tried not to run.

"Well, well," Lucius said, snatching the letter eying the loopy handwriting engraved on the front. "You are dismissed Tildy," he directed towards the little elf, and added, "The letter is from none other than Hermione Granger."

Narcissa put down her cup of tea and listened intently as he read the letter aloud.

" _Mr. Malfoy,_

 _After much consideration, I have decided to take you up on your offer. Please advise of your earliest convenience so that we may meet and discuss details._

 _Hermione Granger"_

Lucius glanced over at Narcissa to see her retake her cup and take a long drink, averting her eyes to anywhere but at his own. Sighing, he placed the letter inside the inner pocket of his robe, grabbed his cane, and headed to the second floor where Draco would undoubtedly be sleeping off whatever he'd managed to do the night prior.

 **xxx**

Draco lay in his bed with a pounding headache - a feeling he had become quite accustomed to of a morning. Having absolutely no life and no responsibilities to account for, he often found himself alone and left to think of all the wrong choices he'd made in his past. Refusing to dwell on how royally he'd fucked those up, he consequently got sloshed almost every night, bringing home some random woman when he did. He always woke up early and forced her to leave, making up a lie that his wife would be home or that his dying grandmother would be awake any moment. He'd make sure they actually left before heading back to his floor and passing out for several more hours. Apparating in and out of the manor would be most convenient, but in the same breath, then they'd be able to come back any time they pleased. Draco shuddered at the thought.

He rolled over on his side to check his bedside clock and noticed that it was after ten in the morning, and that meant he'd missed breakfast. Again. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he waved the other, causing his curtains to open and his lights to turn on. The sudden overabundance of light caused Draco to flinch. He'd had the opportunity to master non-verbal magic during his fifth year and had been using it as a tool to aid his laziness ever since. At nearly twenty one, he could do almost any magic without a wand. Of course, he'd still have to use one to do more difficult or magic inducing spells, but the little things could be done without it. Despite his vast knowledge of magic, verbal and non, there was no spell to cure a hangover. A normal headache, yes, but a headache caused by an excess of alcohol was not within the realm of magical repair.

Normally, he wouldn't be up until well after midday, but the smell that seemed to be emanating from his walls was bothering him to no end. It smelt as if some creature had crawled in there and died, causing the churning in his stomach to get more and more intense. Try as he might, he couldn't begin to count the weeks it had been since he had deeply cleaned the place. There were dirty robes and dishes scattered everywhere, littering every room save for the living area.

When gifting Draco the entire second level, they had also been so kind as to offer him a house elf to go along with it. At first, he didn't mind having someone to clean up after him left and right. Leave a plate on the table? The house elf would pick it up, wash it, and put it away. Drop a robe on the bathroom floor? The house elf would wash it and hang it up. Throw a glass of Firewhisky at the wall and watch it shatter into a million pieces? The annoying house elf would be there immediately to clean up the mess.

It got miserable after a while, never having anything to do. He didn't actually have a job, so he mostly just stayed home and studied up on alchemy. Alchemy was the only subject that didn't bore Draco absolutely to death. He had eventually fired the house elf, if only to give himself more things to do. Not only that, but he didn't actually mind cleaning; it gave him more time to think. As of late, he'd preoccupied his time with sleeping, drinking and sex, which didn't leave much time for tidiness.

Draco had just enough time to escape the warmth of his bed and stretch before his father slammed the door open, stomping over to where his son stood.

"Father," Draco said by way of greeting, continuing to stretch.

"Draco. We need to talk."

"What, pray tell, do we need to talk about at nearly eleven in the morning? And on a Saturday?"

"I am through beating around the bush with you. We need to discuss your future with the company and-" Lucius didn't have time to finish his statement before Draco cut him off, taking two large steps towards his father for emphasis.

"We don't need to discuss a damn thing with the company. I have heard your pathetic speech a thousand times. I don't turn twenty-one for almost a month, and I would like to enjoy that month without worrying about the stock exchange. I've read the bloody pamphlets that you leave on the stairs, and I've already told you that I am prepared to take your place. So, if you'll excuse me, I could really use a shower."

"Draco, there's something you need to know about inheriting the company; something I have been trying to tell you for quite some time now, but that you refuse to listen to. Today, you will hear it whether you like it or not, and I need a decision as to if you are still interested in heading Malfoy & Co. after I tell you."

"Whatever it is can wait until after my damn shower," Draco said over his shoulder, already heading in the opposite direction towards his en suite. Honestly, his father could be a right git sometimes. What in the fuck was so important that it couldn't wait another month? Or at least an hour?

Draco could faintly hear his father rambling on about the importance of patience and maturity as he walked into his en suite and turned on the hot water, allowing the steam to engulf him.

"...honestly, though, you don't have a choice in the matter. If you want to take over the company and be its head as we have discussed in the past, you will be married _before_ your twenty-first birthday. Of course, if you decide against stepping up, you will not be forced to marry but you will have to find another means of work. Your mother and I have agreed not to force you out of your home, but as the Malfoy fortune will no longer be available to you, you'll have to find other means of supporting yourself. Might I suggest..."

But Draco was no longer paying attention. In all of the time he and his family had talked about him stepping up as head of Malfoy & Co., no one had ever mentioned _anything_ about marriage. Of course, Draco would have been daft not to notice his parents' not-so-subtle ways of setting him up on dates. Astoria Greengrass for instance. And that one had worked out _so_ well. Not.

Abruptly, Draco turned off the water and stepped out of the bathroom, a puzzled frown on his face.

"What did you say?"

"Well, I understand if wand-making isn't your line of work, but there's always alchemy. You seemed to do well in potions and I notice the books you've been reading, so I assume you'd-"

"For fuck's sake, Father, don't play ignorant. It doesn't suit you. You know damn well what I'm talking about."

"Watch your language," Lucius said rather tightly, "and I assume what you're referring to is your impending marriage."

"That'd be it, yes," Draco responded through gritted teeth. "Why exactly did you never think of mentioning this before?"

"I tried on multiple occasions to mention this, and before I even had a chance to mutter the words you had stormed off to your room."

"Bullshit."

"Honestly, Draco. Watch that mouth of yours. Your language is distasteful and no decent woman will want to marry a man who cannot control his temper. I admit, I could have tried harder to let you know, but I assumed you would have found a wife by now. Silly me."

"I don't give a fuck what a _decent woman_ would want to marry! I'm not getting married!"

"Well, that's certainly an option you have. Of course, as I said before, you will not be entitled to any more money. Even your inheritance will be gone."

Draco gaped at his father for what seemed like ages. Why in the fuck had no one told him? And how in the fuck was he supposed to find a wife in a month?

"By the blank look on your face, I assume you've now realized that you can't think of anyone on the Earth that would be willing to marry you. Fortunately for you, I've already taken care of it."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" If his parents thought for one damned second that he would be marrying Astoria Greengrass, they had another thing coming.

"That means that your mother and I have taken the liberty of choosing three women for you. You may pick out of those three, but only those three. I have spoken with them and they have all agreed to marry you on such short notice. Be downstairs in an hour for lunch. We'll discuss everything then."

With that, Draco watched as his father walked swiftly out of his room and heard his loud footsteps echo down the stairs.

Marriage. At twenty-one. Draco always knew his family would marry him off, but never thought it to be this soon. Perhaps if he had known months ago, he could have found a mate of his own instead of relying on his parents' lacking relationship skills to seek one out for him. Out of every last person on the planet, his parents were the last two on the list of people he would allow to choose his wife.

Draco turned around and headed back to the shower he had yet to finish, thinking of his options. He could always tell his father to fuck off, and leave the manor to have a life for himself. Of course, he had never been alone in his entire life and the thought didn't exactly sound appealing. His seemingly only other choice was to choose one of the women they had selected, but who exactly were they? Astoria Greengrass was sure to be one of them, and Draco shuddered involuntarily at the thought of having to spend forever with her. Anyone was better than Astoria. Well, except Pansy Parkinson who was a disgustingly blatant whore.

He sighed and turned off the water, not particularly wanting to leave the security of his shower but knowing that if he didn't, his father would surely send a house elf to come find him. The towel nearest to him found its way around his waist without his touching it, and again Draco was reminded of the simplicity of magic. How Muggles lived life without it, he would never know. He quickly dressed and headed to the dining room, not exactly prepared for the impending conversation.

Without acknowledging either one, Draco took his typical place across from them and began eating his lunch. Usually, he wasn't so cold towards his mother, but as she no doubt knew of the marriage situation, Draco couldn't help but harbor some animosity.

"Good morning, darling," she said sweetly.

"Hmph."

"Did you sleep well?"

"Hmph."

His mother didn't ask him any more questions, and instead focused on her tea. Draco also noticed that she wasn't looking at his father either, and briefly wondered what he had done this time.

"Draco," Lucius began, "as I said before, your mother and I-"

He could hear his mother stomp on his father's foot, causing him to intake a sharp breath.

"-or rather I, myself, have chosen three women for you to pick from. In my opinion, they are the best options you have given your situation."

Draco took another bite of his salad.

"If you are ready, I will read them to you."

At this, Draco put his silverware down slowly and took his napkin from his lap, wiping the sides of his mouth.

"And if I've decided not to marry?"

"I have already taken the liberty of circling several jobs hiring in The Prophet."

"You seem to be taking quite a few liberties here lately, Father."

"Have I? I hadn't noticed. In any event, what _have_ you decided Draco?"

"Well, between my two options of get married and stay rich or refuse and die poor, what other choice do I have?"

"Ah, my point exactly. Now, let's see where I put that parchment."

Draco watched as Lucius made a show of patting his robes, looking for the parchment which read the names of his three potential wives.

"And here it is," Lucius said finally, waving the parchment at Draco. "First on the list is... Pansy Parkinson. She's-"

"-a fucking whore," Draco finished. His father looked quite put out by his obvious lack of filter, but the snort that came from his mother affirmed that at least someone in this room was on his side.

"Honestly, Draco, can you go five minutes without foul language?"

"I could, but what would be the fun in that," smirked Draco, propping his feet up on the table and putting his hands behind his back.

"Next is Astoria Greengrass. You obviously know her, but she's-"

"-not acceptable. I mean, honestly. Did you find anyone out there even remotely decent?" Of course his father would do this. Choose the only two women in the entire universe that would make him choose a slow death rather than a marriage to either one, leaving the real option last. Typical.

"All right then, last is...Hermione Granger."

Draco looked his father in the eyes to see if this was some sort of joke. He slowly put his feet back on the floor and placed his hands in his lap. Looking around for his mother, he saw that she was staring quite intently at something in her cup. This couldn't be real. Draco glanced back at his father, who was holding the parchment so tight in one hand that his knuckles had gone white, and looked up into his eyes to see them stern and unwavering.

"You have got to be _fucking_ kidding me."

"Draco, would you _please_ control that mouth of yours? And no, actually, I am not joking. Ironically, she said precisely the same thing – colorful language and all. Anyway-"

"Granger said 'fuck'?" Draco said as he furrowed his brow in confusion. Surely not. Hermione Granger was the most goody two shoes witch he had ever met, and would certainly not use the word 'fuck', no matter how precisely it described a situation.

"Yes, Draco, she did. Now can we please get back to the issue at hand? Your choices are Parkinson, Greengrass, and Granger. I would personally go for Granger'"

"Of course you would."

"-but that's just my opinion. I feel that with her being Muggle-born, it would help the company's status immensely. Your mother's vote is Greengrass-"

"Of course it is."

"-for obvious reasons. Parkinson is also logical-"

"Absolutely not."

"-as her father has connections in many places that could be of use to us. In any event, I expect an answer before nightfall," Lucius said, ignoring every outburst from his ill-mannered son and tucking the parchment back into his robes.

Draco watched his father rise and walk away, and looked over at his mother. She was still sipping her tea and refused to make eye contact with him – a sign which Draco took to mean that she knew something, but was refusing to talk. He rose from his chair rather quickly, causing it to fall to the ground, and stomped back up to his floor. The unmentionable death smell met him as his foot hit the last step, and he immediately began to clean.

All of his clothes levitated to one side of the room, and the trash found its way into the trashcan in the kitchen. He'd charmed the cans to empty themselves into the chute once he'd filled them. The scrubber in the sink was charmed to do the dirty dishes, and the dishes were charmed to dry and put themselves away; not long after starting, his entire floor had been cleaned spotless.

He walked about aimlessly, searching for anything to do other than think of the dreadful choice he had to make in a matter of hours. How could he be expected to choose between the worst three women that were ever created? One was an obvious liar, only out to seek fame and fortune, the other was a down right whore who would sleep with anything she could get to hold still long enough, and the last was an incessant know-it-all who would seek every day of their marriage to prove him wrong. The problem was not choosing the best girl for him – no, the problem was choosing the girl who wouldn't make his life miserable every day he lived it.

Looking around his floor, he noticed how much happier it seemed than the rest of the mansion. When his father and mother had gifted it to him, he'd immediately begun with renovations. Much to his family's dismay, he'd chosen to paint over the black and gray color scheme that had been present before, and replace it with emerald and silver. Growing up in a home where every wall, accent, and piece of furniture were either black or gray caused Draco to crave color, and what better color than Slytherin green? The guest rooms each had their own color; navy, red, gray, brown and purple.

The walls in the main rooms had been lined with portraits dating back generations of Malfoy men and women. Draco contemplated keeping them around, but after hearing their opinions of the sort of women he brought home, decided against it and moved them to an unused bedroom. The only portraits he'd kept and displayed were a family portrait from when Draco was fifteen, a self portrait to hang above his mantle – because who didn't have one? – and one of his Grandmother Malfoy.

There was only one portrait of his Grandmother Malfoy, wife of Abraxas, in the entire manor and Draco had taken it to his floor without so much as a word from either of his parents. The Malfoy family was not too keen on displaying his Grandmother, for her blatant lack of filter and opinionated ideals. He'd found her picture when he was nine, walking through the mansion on his own after being ignored by both his parents. She was a rather plump woman dressed entirely in black, complete with a very large hat. When he'd found her, she had been hanging in an unused guestroom, with no other picture around. He'd felt sorry for her, and without waking her, very carefully moved her to the drawing room so that she could socialize with the rest of the portraits. That had been an immediate mistake.

His Grandfather Abraxas had also been hanging in the drawing room, and upon seeing his late wife, immediately began yelling and screaming at her. This caused her to wake from her slumber in a very irate state. Their screaming match lasted ten minutes, during which they managed to wake up every portrait on the first floor. Draco's father had come running in and removed his Grandmother Malfoy without a word. He'd placed her back into the guest room and warned Draco to never move her again.

When Lucius had left, Draco had asked his grandmother dozens of questions and from then on, she was the person he went to when he needed advice or someone to talk to. Over the years, they grew very close and so when the time came, Draco moved her portrait to his floor and displayed it proudly in his sitting area – the only room he kept miraculously clean so that she wouldn't know he lived in filth.

As he walked through his living room and even though she was sleeping, he knew he could not wait to ask her opinion on his marriage. Grandmother Malfoy had a lifetime of experience, so surely she would know what to do in a situation such as this one.

"Grandmother," he whispered to her sleeping figure, managing to entice nothing but a snore. "Grandmother," he tried again slightly louder. Her snoring increased.

"Grandmother!"

"HUH?!"

Draco smirked. "Well, good afternoon, Grandmother. How are we doing this fine day?"

"What the bloody hell do you want?"

Draco smiled. Ah, the filter. His grandmother was not one to sugar coat anything, which was one of the many things he loved about her. "Grandmother, I need help," he pleaded. Sensing the desperation in his voice, she sat up straight and fixed the obnoxious hat on her head.

"What is it, my boy?" Her voice was much smoother than either his father's or his mother's – almost like velvet.

"Grandmother, my father says I must marry and he hasn't given me the best of options." Understatement of the bloody year.

"Blasted git," she said, "I always knew he'd come up with something like this. You'd have thought he learned his damned lesson when his own marriage had to be arranged. Right then, what are the choices?" She leaned forward, put her elbow on her knee and her head in her hands, clearly waiting to solve the dilemma of a lifetime.

"Well, I've got that whore of a girl Parkinson -"

"Abso-fucking-lutely not! I will not be the laughing stock of the portraits for having my grandson marry a damn hussy! Next!" He'd told her on several occasions throughout his summer breaks from school of Pansy's extracurricular activities.

"Alright," he chuckled, "next I've got Astoria Greengrass who I went out with once-"

"Yes, and as I recall, that date went to shit before it even started. And the last?"

"Granger, a girl that I went to school with. She's an insufferable know-it-all and I hated her. She even slapped me once!"

"Did you deserve it?" his grandmother asked accusingly, pointing a chubby finger in his direction.

"Maybe," he answered, crossing his arms and pouting like a child. Why did it fucking matter if he'd deserved it or not? She shouldn't have slapped him at all!

"Enough of that! Tell me more about her." Another reason he loved his grandmother – she didn't take anyone's shit.

"Well, she's got huge teeth and a bush for hair -"

"Both can be fixed," his grandmother inserted.

"Yes," he continued, "both can be fixed. I don't really know much more about her. She's intelligent and was the top of our year, beating me by two bloody points." He was still hacked off by that. Losing to a damned Gryffindor.

"She really isn't that bad of a person I guess. Except for her incessant need to be right and throw herself into situations that don't concern her. She's also a mud-blood and a raging bit'"

"A WHAT?"

"A mud-blood, but listen-"

"DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY, YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH THIS INSTANT," she yelled. "Under no circumstances are you to ever speak of another human being that way, do you understand me? That poor girl probably didn't even find out she was a witch until the Hogwarts letter arrived at her door, meaning she learned what took you ten years to figure out in one summer before heading off to school. Being muggle-born was out of her control, and it sounds to me as if she's taken the witch life in stride. Contrary to popular belief, I am not prejudiced, and I never have been. The only reason I ever made the cut for this snob of a family is because I never actually had the displeasure of meeting Abraxas, and my father was a smooth talker. Now, if the only reason you're not marrying this poor girl is because of her blood status, I am ashamed of you." With that, she got up from her stool and walked away.

"Wait, Grandmother. I didn't mean it offensively, I -"

"NONSENSE," she yelled, whipping back in his direction. "The very word itself is offensive and I don't ever want to hear it come out of your mouth again! Do you hear me?"

"Y-Yes, Grandmother," he stuttered. There was no use in arguing with her.

"Now," she said, repositioning her hat once again and assuming her place on the stool."I think the choice is quite obvious, don't you?"

"No?" It was more of a question than an answer.

"Tell me, boy. What color are Parkinson's eyes?"

What the hell? Why did it matter what color her eyes were? She was a slag, through and through. He wasn't going to change his mind because of her eyes.

"I don't fucking know. What kind of question is that?"

"Mhm. And what of Greengrass'?"

Draco thought for a moment, but for the life of him couldn't remember the color of her eyes. He probably should have remembered, given that he stared at them for nearly half an hour on the worst date in history.

"Green I think? Why does this even matter?"

"Yes, and Granger's?"

He thought about it, and remembered how dark her brown eyes had become the day she'd slapped him, and how light they would get every time she'd heard the phrase "Ten points to Gryffindor!".

"Brown," he said confidently, glad to get at least one of them correct.

"Right. Just one more question. Before you found out that your marriage was going to be arranged, did you have any intentions of marrying for love?

"Well...yeah, I guess so. I mean, I always just assumed that when I was ready to slow down, I'd find a nice girl and settle down."

"Well then, I think your choice is obvious."

"Forgive me, Grandmother. How exactly is the hardest fucking choice of my life that obvious to you?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Draco. If choosing between three women is the hardest choice you have to make in your life, I'd say you had easy. Clearly you need to choose Granger. Pansy is a whore who would cheat on you at the drop of anyone's pants. Astoria is a right bitch and isn't wife material. Granger is intelligent and challenges you, not to mention she is the only one of those women that you took care enough to remember her eye color."

Draco stood there, mouth agape and eyebrows raised. Surely he'd heard her wrong. Surely she hadn't said _Granger._ How could he possibly sentence himself to a life of always being corrected by the notorious Gryffindor princess? No, there had to be another option.

"There's just one problem, of course," his grandmother continued, successfully bringing him out of his thoughts.

"You tell me that my best option is a stuck up know-it-all and that by agreeing to marry her, I might as well chop my own balls off to save her the hassle, but that there's only _one_ problem? Oh, do tell."

"Have you ever actually said her first name?"

For what had to have been the tenth time that day, Draco was at a loss for words. He knew for a fact that he'd never said her name. There was never a need to. Calling someone by their first name implied a sort of friendship that he'd never cared to have with Granger.

"No," he said simple, "I never had a need to."

"Well go on then," she encouraged. "What is it?"

"Hermione."

The name felt strange coming from his lips, but not necessarily in a bad way.

"Hermione," she repeated. "Not too bad."

 **xxx**

 **A/N**

How about that Grandmother Malfoy, eh? She's in for the long haul, so stay tuned! As always, I am so appreciative of the followers, favorites, and reviews. You guys truly inspire me! If I haven't responded to your review, at least to say "thanks", it's because you left it as a guest and your review isn't linked to an account. I'm not ignoring you!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**

I cannot begin to thank you all enough for your lovely reviews! I am so sorry it's taken this long to update. Life certainly has a way of getting you out of your routine! Updates should come more frequently as of now, but no promises. Exams and all that coming up. Anyway, enjoy!

 **xxx**

Hermione sent Abberley, a gift from her parents for returning to Hogwarts and graduating after the battle, to Malfoy Manor with a small letter attached to his thin leg. He seemed very nervous, which was quite unlike the tawney owl. While watching Abberley fly higher into the clouds, Hermione could feel the apprehension vine its way beginning at the hand that wrote the letter, all the way to her face causing a flush of color to fill her too-pale cheeks. Willing back the tears signaling her defeat in independence, she laid her head down on the table, its unnatural coolness easing some of the heat away from her face.

How had this happened? She had done everything she was supposed to – she went back to school and got her N.E.W.T.S., graduated the top of her class (obviously), received a brilliant job offer working for the ministry aiding them in their work with house elves, moved out of her parents' home and into her own flat, and earned a promotion! The tears she had been successfully holding back now spilled over, a small puddle forming on the table. She shouldn't be ungrateful. Really, she shouldn't. If this meant that her father would be able to have the funding he needed, she was willing to do anything. Although, this was probably the reason she was so upset. The Malfoys, one of the worst wizarding families out there in her opinion, had something she would never – access to large quantities of money and connections in the right places. Must be nice.

She wiped the tears from her face, ending her pity party, and sent Jenna a quick text to meet at Florean's in two hours. Girl talk was a necessity, and since her mother had no idea she was even dating, let alone piratically engaged, Jenna would have to be her outlet.

When Hermione arrived, Jenna was already there, seated with a cone of chocolate ice cream in her hand and a cone of vanilla placed delicately across from her, charmed so as not to fall. Hermione sat down and took the vanilla ice cream into her hands.

Both sat in silence for what seemed like hours.

"So," said Jenna.

"So."

"'Mione… What are we doing here? I got your very cryptic text, which you never send unless you're on the verge of a break down by the way, and got here within an hour. Are you going to explain at all?"

"Merlin, Jenna, I wouldn't even know where to begin. Everything is so terribly backwards. I've never actually had a friend I could confide in, unless you include Harry and Ron, which I don't. They never really wanted to hear about my life. They were much to focused on their own issues," she sighed. And while she did have to give them credit – they were all trying to vanquish the most powerful and evil wizard of all time and that is rather distracting – neither boy was ever very interested in her as a person. Well, other than Ron, but his was out of relationship obligations, not actual interest. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to be listened to, instead of just heard.

"Well," Jenna said encouragingly, "let's start from where we left off. The last time we spoke was yesterday, and Lucius had just made his proposition. Have you thought it over?"

"I have." Hermione said slowly.

"And?"

It was quiet at the table once more. Hermione's eyes, which had been staring down intently at her melting ice cream, slowly made their way to Jenna's and filled themselves with unannounced and unwarranted tears, for the second time that day. "I am," she said with a finality that sent a shiver down her spine. "I sent Abberley with a letter this morning telling them that I've agreed. God, Jenna," Hermione said loudly, putting her head into her hands, "what have I done?"

Hermione felt Jenna's hands tug on her own.

"You're doing what you feel you have to do in order to save your Dad. There is no shame in it, Hermione. You're smart and you're beautiful. Any man would be lucky to have you."

"I assume so, I just can't help but feel like I'm signing my life away. No girl ever dreams of marrying their childhood nemesis, Jenna, and here I am offering myself up for money. Does it get any more desperate than that? But on the other hand, what am I supposed to do? This could quite possibly be the thing that saves my father's life."

"I don't think it's going to be as bad as you think," said Jenna, rubbing comforting circles on the back of Hermione's hand. "You've told me a thousand times that you weren't sure you wanted to have kids, and that you hadn't time to date anyone because of your career. Merlin knows you won't be having kids with Malfoy, and this way, you won't have to go looking for a man. More than likely you'll live with him in his family's home and it's big enough that you'll never have to see any one of them if you choose not to. I really do think this will all be okay. Arranged marriages happen all the time, and people survive just fine."

Before Hermione could argue anymore about the difference between surviving and _thriving_ , she caught sight of Abberley flying gracefully through the sky, slowly descending to the back of her chair. Usually, she only asked him to deliver letters close by, and she half expected him to stay at the manor a while and rest up. It was then that she remembered how nervous he had been that morning, and was no longer surprised that he decided to make the long trek home immediately. He stuck his foot out, kindly asking her to untie the message which was attached with a ribbon. She did so, and fed him a bite of her ice cream before watching him fly back in the direction of home.

"This must be their response," Hermione said with a wavering voice.

"Well, then," Jenna said eagerly, "read it!"

" _Ms. Granger,_

 _We have received your letter and are pleased with your decision. We would be delighted to have you for dinner at the manor this evening at seven, and dress will be formal. As this invitation is rather sudden, we understand if you are unable to attend due to prior obligations. Please let us know if you are free._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy"_

Hermione read the letter a second time, just to be sure her eyes had, in fact, read the response properly. With trembling hands, she handed the letter written in beautiful, curvy handwriting over to Jenna, and proceeded to put her head in her hands. In five week she would be married. In five weeks her coworkers would refer to her as _Mrs. Malfoy._ In five weeks her life would change forever, and she wasn't sure if she wanted it to. _It's all for Dad,_ she kept reminding herself.

"This is great news!"

Hermione moved her fingers from her eyes just enough to see Jenna's annoyingly happy face.

"Are you barking? This is it Jenna! I have a little over a month until I have to marry the devil!"

"Oh, Hermione, don't you think you're being a little dramatic? Quite a bit of time has passed since we've all been in school, and I can't imagine that he stayed an arse this whole time. He might surprise you!"

"I sincerely doubt it!" Hermione shrieked. Changed? Ha!

"Well," Jenna sighed, rolling up the parchment and handing it back to Hermione, "I guess you'll find out tonight at seven."

"Seven?"

Jenna looked at Hermione with a look of confusion. "Yes...tonight. That's what the parchment said, isn't it? ' _We would be delighted to have you for dinner at the manor this evening at seven.'_ "

"Bloody brilliant," said Hermione, rereading the letter for a third time. "And I apparently have to dress 'formal'. Jenna, I haven't got anything formal to wear!"

"Okay, the first thing you've got to do is calm down. We _are_ in Diagon Alley, and in minutes we can be in the heart of London. We will find you something to wear."

Hermione let a shaky breath go that she didn't know she was holding. "Well, let's get on with it then."

"That's the spirit!" Jenna laughed as she grabbed Hermione by the arm, dragging her to the nearest dress shop.

 **XXX**

Draco had been pacing his room for a solid 20 minutes, waiting on the clock to chime 6:45. He knew Hermione would be at least ten minutes early and he wanted to beat her, but he didn't want to be forced into small talk with his family.

After Draco had made his decision internally, he wandered around to find his father. It could have been a trick of the light, but he could have sworn he saw his father smirk. Lucius told him to dress nicely – preferably suit and tie – because she was going to be to dinner at seven. Fairly confused as to how Granger had already been invited to dinner when he hadn't even made his mind up, Draco did as he was told and went to find a suit that fit.

Finding something decent was rather difficult to do given how much he had changed over the years. When Draco was younger, he'd had to wear a suit underneath his dress robes several times in a year for galas and balls and other miscellaneous, client gathering activities for his father's, now his, company. However, during and after the war, all festivities had been put on hold, and his family hadn't hosted a gathering of any kind since. This meant that all of his suits were roughly five years old.

In those five years, he had grown several inches, totaling his height to about 6'4". He was less lanky and much more toned. Had to keep the body up for the girls, didn't he? The only constant that remained was his hair – as stiff and slicked back as ever. After rummaging through his entire closet only to come up empty handed, he sent an elf to Diagon Alley with his measurements to pick up a few new suits, all in black.

A suit was easy enough to obtain, but as Draco looked at himself in the mirror of his bathroom, he knew that some things were not able to be covered up or fixed. The circles under his eyes caused by one too many a night partying, for example. Or the dullness of his skin and hair, probably caused by lack of sleep and stress. Draco had to admit – he had looked much better when he was younger, before the real stresses of the real world and Lord Voldemort found their way into his life. He took a shower and scrubbed, doing the best he could, but ultimately gave up.

After his shower, Draco took the time to walk about his floor, making sure that everything was in its place. After his conversation with Grandmother, he'd gone on a cleaning spree and his level was now sparkling, a stark difference to the main floor. The main floor had been redone shortly after the war to try and rid it of the old Malfoy taste. It had been repainted in lighter shades of the same colors, and the furniture had been changed out. Draco's level was full of varying shades of green and gray which contrasted nicely with the pristine white molding. It really was elegant, especially considering that Draco had made all of the design choices. His furniture was more edgy, and most of it was black. He had nine total bedrooms on his level, and had decorated each and every one in a different color scheme. Occasionally, to rid his boring life of the same thing each and every day, he would take turns sleeping in the bedrooms.

His favorite room, other than his own of course, was a room three doors down from his own. He had chosen a dark purple, gray, and white scheme, with accents of baby blue every now and again for extra color. Being alone with his mother all those summers when he was little took a tole on his designing side. This room was not his favorite because of the color, or the view of the garden, or even the king sized, four poster bed. No, this room was his favorite because behind a portrait of his great-great grandfather, Phineas Nigellus Black, was one of two entries to a secret library. He'd discovered it in his teens, but grew to appreciate it more throughout the years. When he stumbled upon it, it was filled mostly with books on the importance of keeping blood pure and how to train stubborn house elves. At the time, Draco hadn't minded seeing those books. They were actually quite interesting to look at with their tattered spines. However, after the fall of Voldemort, he had moved them all to a back corner to deteriorate without his having to look at them. Why he didn't just throw them away, he was unsure.

Shaking his head to get out of his thoughts, he looked down at his watch and cursed at the time. It was now 6:54 and Granger was probably downstairs waiting on him. He slicked his hair back with one hand and re-buttoned his jacket with the other before descending the stairs. When he reached the landing, he had a clear view of the dining room which was directly in front of him, and Granger was not seated. He looked to the fireplace on his left and checked his watch once again. 6:56. She was cutting it close. Draco leaned against the wall and took a deep breath, a weak attempt at calming himself in a very stressful situation.

Just then, his fireplace chimed, alerting him that someone would be passing through his fireplace in exactly five seconds. Draco glanced at his mother, who failed miserable at looking uninterested, and then back at the fireplace.

The woman who walked through could not have been the know-it-all Granger. The Granger he knew had bushy hair and an awkward gait. This woman stepped out of his fireplace so surely, that he straightened himself from his slouching position on the wall just to compete with her. She immediately turned left from the fireplace, meaning he saw her back. Dear Merlin, did he see her back.

She was wearing a beaded emerald gown that was floor length and backless, with one strap that went around her neck. Her hair was pinned up in some sort of bun with slightly curled pieces hanging down every now and again. She wore elbow length black gloves which matched her black heels and handbag. Draco backed into a dark corner and watched her turn in a circle, evaluating her surroundings. When he caught sight of her face, he noticed that despite the fact that her body was dressed up, she still had not done much with her face. It was very customary for women of higher blood status' to wear more makeup, particularly around this eyes, and Draco always hated it. He viewed it much the same as false advertising. It was refreshing for him to see an elegantly dressed woman with little to no makeup, save for some shine to her lips. He noticed that as she turned, she wrapped her arms around herself, tugging at one of the gloves covering her arms.

He wasn't entirely sure how it happened, or who she paid to do it, but Granger looked good.

Damned good.

Deciding that it was now or never, Draco slowly walked up to her and offered her his arm. He wouldn't have, except that he knew his mother was watching and she'd likely lecture him to death if she knew he weren't being a complete gentleman. Granger jumped slightly at the sudden sight of him, and he watched her eyes travel up and down his body before settling at his arm, and going back up to his face.

Her eyes met his and everything stopped. This was it. Either she was going to be civil, or she was going to be a down right bitch. Draco knew there was no in between with her.

"Hello, Malfoy," she said, taking a step in his direction and taking his arm loosely.

"You look dreadful."

Well, then. Bitch mode it was.

"And don't you look just lovely," he said through gritted teeth. Honestly. Was it too much to ask that she not be so goddamned rude?

"Well," she sighed and headed in the direction of the dining room, "let's get on with it, then."

He rolled his eyes and walked her to her designated chair. The family had done away with the old dining table – it harbored too many awful memories – and settled on one a bit smaller, only seating eight rather than the original twenty. Lucius was sitting at the head of the table, with his wife to the right of him. Across from Narcissa was a place for Hermione, and next to Narcissa was a place for Draco.

He led her over and pulled out her chair. She sat down without a glance in his direction or a muttered 'thank you'. All business, that one. Draco ran his hand over his hardened hair as he made his way to his seat. She really was quite the bitch, and to think, she was his future. The Fates were laughing in his direction, he was sure of it.

Everyone was silent for several minutes before the house elves came out with the food, and Draco was sure Granger was going to have a conniption fit. Of course, everyone knew her role in the freeing of elves and also knew that she would no doubt find offense to their serving her, despite the fact that they were wearing actual clothing. He was almost of a mind to fill her in that the elves were paid very well for their service, and had their own remodeled floor to live on, but he didn't.

"Hermione, dear, how are you?" His mother's attempt at casual dinner conversation.

"Fine, thank you. And yourselves?"

"Just wonderful."

Draco could tell that his mother was grasping for straws. After all, it's not every day that you invite the Muggle-born witch who you once hated, and who was also tortured in the very room you were sitting in to dinner. It really was shaping up to be a lovely evening.

"Well," Draco began, desperate to get the evening over with, "let's get on with it. So what's the plan?"

His mother and father both paused hesitantly. He watched Granger put her fork down slowly and wipe the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

"The plan?" she asked.

"Yes, Granger. A detailed proposal about what one may do in the future. A plan."

"I'm sorry, I must have misunderstood you. I wasn't aware that our future was a game for you." Her eyes narrowed in his direction.

"It's not a bloody game, I just don't want to sit here for an hour and make pointless small talk. We are to be married, and my birthday is in a month. I just want to know what is going to happen and when."

Narcissa shot him a dirty look. "I think what my son is trying and failing to say is, what did you have in mind as far as wedding planning went, and how did you want to go about informing the public?"

His dear mother. Always so politically correct.

"Well," Granger began slowly, "I need to tell my parents first, before we go public with anything, and I want to give them time to get acquainted with the idea before the whole world knows."

"Understandable," his father said.

Draco was fairly confused, yet again. He could have sworn he heard his father say that each of the parents of the women had been spoken with and understood the terms. Why were Granger's parents out of the loop?

"Why don't your parents already know?" he asked, directing his question more towards his father.

"And," she continued, completely ignoring him,"I'd prefer the fewer people know about it until then."

"Of course," his mother offered. "And were you wanting to have the ceremony fairly soon or

closer to Draco's birthday.

"Excuse me," Draco interrupted, "I'm sure this may come as a shock to you Granger, as most things do when you're not the center of attention, but this marriage has two parts. Now why do your parents not know? My father said he'd spoken with them."

Hermione hesitated, ignoring him yet again. "Well, I'd prefer as close to his birthday as we can get. I'd like to give everyone, my friends and yours, to get over their shock so as not to attract bad publicity."

Draco rose suddenly from his chair, slamming his fists on the table. "EXCUSE ME," he yelled, "BUT WHY IN THE FUCK IS EVERYONE TALKING ABOUT ME LIKE I'M NOT BLOODY HERE!"

"Honestly Draco, watch your language. There are women present," his father chastised.

"Oh, give me a fucking break," Draco responded. "This is ridiculous. The Saturday before my birthday is June second, I assume you'll want that day?" he looked pointedly at Granger, who was sitting rather stiff in her chair.

"June second is fine," she said shortly.

"Oh good," Draco retorted, sitting back down in his chair. "You do hear me. Now, why is it that

my father is saying one thing, and you're saying another."

"You must have misunderstood me, son."

"Bullshit."

"Honestly, Draco! Please!" his mother said in the background.

"Look," Granger chimed in, "he didn't speak with my parents. I am old enough to make my own decisions and I don't need my parents' approval. Why is it so important to you anyway?" she chided.

Come to think of it, Draco wasn't entirely sure why it was so important, but he wasn't going to let her win.

"I don't like liars," he said simply. That ought to be reason enough for her not to question, and the statement was actually true. Lying implied secrets, and after the war, he wasn't too keen on secrets. Secrets meant distrust, which only led to more secrets. Draco watched as she raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?" she said, "You don't? How ironic considering you're one of the biggest liars I've ever met."

What. A. Bitch.

"Okay, listen here you little - "

"DRACO!" both his parents yelled at the same time, effectively stopping him from saying something he'd probably regret.

"Draco," his mother repeated, "why don't you take Hermione up to your floor and show her around while I help clean up, yeah?" She looked desperate, and only because he loved his mother unconditionally did he grit his teeth and nod, standing up from the table and heading upstairs. He didn't bother to see whether she was following or not, but after a few seconds he heard the clicks of her heals on the floor.

What right did she have to accuse him in his own house of being a liar? Sure, he'd made mistakes in the past. Hadn't everyone? That certainly didn't give her the right to go calling people out on them! She hadn't exactly been perfect – she did slap him once.

What had he gotten himself into? It wasn't bad enough that she was a snarky know-it-all, but the fact that he had chosen his fate made it all the worse. He'd actually picked her. She should be grateful! Without him, she would have probably ended up marrying Weasel and having eleven or so mini-Weasels running around. He was doing her a favor, to tell the truth.

Once he stepped up onto his floor, he paused and waited for her, suddenly nervous that she'd hate it. He shook the feelings away quickly. Why should it matter if she hated it or not? It was his house, dammit.

She, too, paused on the top step and looked around. Both were in his foyer which was decorated in green, not unlike the color of her dress he noted. To the left was a long hallway where four bedrooms and three bathrooms were present, including his own. To the right were five more bedrooms and four more bathrooms. Continuing straight would take them into his drawing room, off of which to the right was his kitchen, straight ahead his dining room, and to the left his living room. Mentally cursing himself for forgetting to place Grandmother Malfoy elsewhere, he made every attempt at keeping her out of that room.

"Wow," she breathed. "It's much more beautiful than I thought it would be. Has it always looked like this?"

"No, not always," he said, glad to have something to talk about other than the stupid bloody marriage. "We never really used the second or third floors, and the fourth is an attic. After the war during Father's imprisonment, Mother and I redid the whole manor. She had the bottom floor and I did the second and third. She gave the second to me when I was finished, and the third has been made into living quarters for the house elves."

"You have living quarters for your elves?" She sounded genuinely confused.

"Yes, Granger, we do. You do remember putting that law into place, don't you? We now have only three house elves, and we pay them all very well. Originally, we told them all that they could not live with us. We wanted them to find their own homes so they wouldn't feel trapped, but the buggers wouldn't leave. I found one hiding in my closet once. That's when Mother and I decided to gift them the third floor. It took some convincing on our part, but they did eventually take it."

She had walked away while he was talking and headed towards the drawing room. He walked over to a table holding fairly expensive scotch and poured himself a glass, watching her inspect the room. She moved on into the dining room and he followed, making note of the decor she lingered longer on. Thankfully, she just shot a glance in the living room and didn't try to enter. Draco didn't think he could handle an encounter with his Grandmother. They continued this way, she entering a room and he following closely, but not too closely, behind her. Once she made her way down the hallway with his bedroom, he opened every door to every room and allowed her to look.

"These rooms are exquisite. You decorated all of these yourself?" She was looking at a rather confusing painting made of navy blue, black, and white dots to match the color scheme of that particular room.

"I did," he responded, still sipping his scotch. He ushered her out of the room and showed her the others, pausing slightly before opening the door to his favorite room – the one with the secret library entrance.

"Oh, wow," she sighed, "this is breath taking. I love this shade of purple."

Draco smirked and continued his drink. Imagine that. Granger found delight in something he had done. How ironic considering virtually nothing could make her happy.

"Where is your bedroom?" She asked, now looking directly at him. Funny. With the lights dimmed, she almost looked beautiful. Almost.

"This way."

He led her into his room, which was easily thrice the size of any other bedroom on his floor. He had chosen the emerald in his foyer for the walls. Each wall had crown and chair rail molding in pure white, and there were black and silver accents. Very Slytherinesque. While she walked around his room, stopping every so often to investigate a trinket or picture, he was nervous. No one outside of his mother, father, and the house elves had ever been in his room before, and he felt very exposed to her violation of his space. She even went into his bathroom, for Merlin's sake.

"I assume I'll be staying on this floor with you?" Her question caught him off guard. It never occurred to him that she would actually be living with him.

"If that's what you want. I'm sure you could take a room on any other floor if you'd like."

"No," she said softly, "I don't mind this one."

Draco released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. She liked his floor. She liked his design. She liked where he lived. For the life of him, he had no idea why this mattered.

"Which room would you like?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "I didn't really think about it. Can I have any one I want?"

He hesitated. "Aside from this one, yes."

"Well, then...I'd like the purple one."

Of-fucking-course she did. The only room with convenient access to the library. Now he'd have to go through a hideaway door behind a bookshelf in his living room.

"Sounds good to me," he said. It was easier to allow her to take the room than to tell her no, and not be able to tell her why. He wasn't quite sure he was ready to share _everything_ with her quite yet, and that meant the library was off limits. Perhaps some day he'd tell her.

"I'd better be off. I have work in the morning. As for your date, June second sounds fine to me. Just owl me your plans so I can go along with them."

"I don't have any plans."

She paused. "You don't have plans?"

"No?" he said as a question. "Why would I?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said, "I just figured you Malfoys were ready to get married the moment you turned of age."

"You just so happen to be incorrect in your assumption, Granger. I haven't done an ounce of planning, nor will I. This marriage is a business deal. You help my name and I help yours."

"If you think I'm doing all of the planning on my own, you must be barking!" she squeaked.

"Well, who the hell else is going to do it? Do I look like a woman?"

He knew the moment he said the words that they were a mistake. Draco watched her clench her fists at her sides and he could only imagine what was coming.

"WHAT did you just say to me? This is JUST as much my wedding as it is yours, and if you think even for one MOMENT that I will be doing all of the work, you've gone absolutely mad!"

"And you, Princess, are a bloody fool if you think I'm going to sit at home and twiddle my thumbs while planning a fucking wedding!"

"You know what, Malfoy? Screw you AND your wedding! You're so damned selfish, always thinking of you! I don't know why I thought you would have changed and actually grown up a bit! I don't need this!"

"How dare you! You think you know everything about everthing don't you, Granger? Well guess fucking what?"

And then she was gone. She stormed away from him, bumping him in the shoulder on purpose as she did so. It took him a moment, but once he realized where she was headed he tried to stop her. Down the stairs they went, Granger now picking up the pace, clearly realizing that he was trying to stop her.

"Granger, wait!" he yelled, but it was pointless. As the words left his mouth, he watched her grab a handful of floo powder from their fireplace mantel and scream "HOME!", followed by a rather large puff of green smoke. She could have used a little less powder.

"FUCK!" he screamed, throwing his scotch glass against the wall. His breathing was ragged as he put his hands on his hips, trying to make sense of what just happened.

"I see that went well," his father said from the dining room. Draco whirled around and walked towards his father until they were inches away from each other.

"And what the fuck was that about, Father? You know damn well you told me you spoke to her parents, and yet she says that isn't true. What are you hiding?"

"Honestly, Draco," his father said, taking a step back, "slow down on the scotch. It must have been a slip of the tongue on my part. Perhaps you should owl Ms. Granger and give her your most sincere apology. If I heard correctly, she's just broken up with you."

"WE AREN'T EVEN IN A BLOODY RELATIONSHIP!" Draco yelled.

"Oh, yes you are, son. It may not be conventional, but you most certainly are. Word of advice? Flowers help."

"I'm not sending her a damned thing!"

"You might want to reconsider. It's not as if women are lining up." And with that, his father was gone. His mother was gone. Granger was gone. Everyone had gone their separate ways, and there he was, left with his own thoughts.

Fucking Granger.

xxx

 **Author's Note:**

And that's that! I sincerely appreciate everyone who takes the time to review – they make me happy!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Tadaaaaa! Another chapter! Sorry it's so short, but I'm hoping to have another chapter up by this weekend. *fingers crossed*

The puff of green smoke that preceded Hermione's entry into her flat was so thick that she found it impossible to walk through without bumping an extremity onto some bit of furniture or another. Her attempt to get to the bedroom resulted in several stubbed toes and one nasty bruise to her shin, all adding to the already mounting frustration from her dinner with the Malfoys.

After struggling for several minutes, she gave up on the powder residue clearing of its own accord and cast a spell ridding her apartment of the nuisance. When she could see once more, Hermione began to forcefully remove her dress in a rather unladylike fashion, desperate to get it off. She had been so proud of the beaded emerald gown that had taken she and Jenna so long to find. It was a floor length, form fitting halter top that seemed seamless, aside from a hidden zipper down the left side. It hugged her curves well, and belled out ever so slightly at her knees, giving the allusion that she was floating. At the time of purchase, all she could think about was how wonderful the dress would look, and now, the only thoughts crossing her mind were those of homicide.

The zipper, clearly not budging past the bottom of her rip cage, began to rip at the pressure she was applying to it. Giving up on that too, Hermione threw her shoes of and stomped back to the couch to look for her phone. In times of great joy or stress, her past outlet had been her mother, but given the recent change in the woman's attitude, Hermione decided on Jenna's company instead.

 _My flat. Ten minutes._

 _-H_

It took Jenna less than five minutes to arrive via floo, during which time Hermione managed to rip the zipper from her dress completely, successfully ending her war with it, and throw on a t-shirt accompanied by an old pair of sweat pants. Jenna came through the fireplace looking much the same, aside from her hair. It was obviously wet from a recent shower and had been thrown into a messy bun on the top of her head. Hermione's hair was still elegantly curled in an up-do, small tendrils hanging here and there. Not one hair had made it out of place, despite her fumbling around. Charms really did do wonders.

"So this evening either went really swell or really awful," Jenna gasped, out of breath from her abrupt journey. "So which is it?"

"It was awful!" Hermione screeched. "He's such a chauvinist pig, it's disgusting!"

Jenna nodded her head, as if she had expected this reaction all along, and walked to the kitchen. She gathered two spoons, took a tub of ice cream from the freezer, and made her way over to the couch where Hermione was already seated.

"'Mione," she began, "you know I love you. I do. But did you honestly expect anything less? He _is_ a damned Malfoy. It's not as though you were marrying a priest. Don't you think we're being a tad over dramatic?" She didn't even wait on Hermione's response before shoving quite a large spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

"You know what, Jenna? I don't need this from you, too. For the past two hours I've had to make pointless small talk with the Malfoys of all people, and I'm a bit talked out for the evening. So if you don't mind, I'd just like to sit here in silence whilst you eat my ice cream."

Jenna shrugged, and that's just what they did. Hermione, pouting that Draco Malfoy didn't have even the slightest inkling of decency, and Jenna, nonchalantly eating an entire pint of ice cream in one sitting. When she was finished, Jenna made her way back into the kitchen to clean up her mess, and came back with two cups of tea.

"Now, then," she began, "let's talk. I'm sorry I was inconsiderate of your feelings and you're sorry you snapped. Tell me what happened."

That tone of calm understanding was all it took for Hermione to fall into a blubbering heap of snot and tears, crying for all of the wrongs that had been done and for her future that didn't seem so bright after all.

"I feel like all I do is cry lately," Hermione said as she wiped away the last of the salty drops from her face. "It's so unlike me, but I just have no idea how to stop. Between Dad and his cancer, and Malfoy and this marriage, I don't know how I'm ever going to be able to function in society again."

"You'll do just as you've always done, and you'll be greater than you've ever been. You're Hermione Granger for Merlin's sake, you can do anything. I don't mean to negate your father's cancer, but if this were to happen to anyone, at least it's happening to you. The Malfoys have the means to help, and as for the marriage, I really don't think it'll be as bad as you think it is."

"Ha! You only say that because you _are_ in love. For the rest of us, it's harder than it looks."

"You know, you're always so negative when you talk about love. Like it'll never happen for you. Didn't you love Ron once upon a time?"

"Gods," Hermione groaned. "It's not that I didn't love Ron. Truly, I did. Just not in the way a wife would love her husband." And it was true, mostly. When their relationship began, it had been on the cusp of war. Everything was exciting and fresh, and it just felt so nice to be wanted by someone who she'd given her heart to. When the real world hit both of them after Hogwarts, life got much harder. He wanted everything to _look_ like they were in a serious relationship so he pushed and pushed until she moved in. He all but asked her to marry him, without the whole one knee bit, but he was never able to simply be there for her. After a long day of work, she expected to come home to a loving boyfriend and eat dinner, maybe read a book or two, and head to bed. His idea of a fun time was going out, and consequently, he wasn't home often. At the time, neither one of them knew how to be in a functional relationship, and both agreed not to force it. The breakup had gone quite smoothly, as far as breakups go.

"Funny that you say that," Jenna said, tilting her head and poking her lip out, "that bit about knowing what marriage feels like. How _exactly_ would you know what it feels like to love someone like a husband or wife? You've never been married."

Point made.

"I don't know, Jenna," Hermione groaned, putting her head in her hands, "I just know it's not what Ron and I had. We weren't in the same place emotionally."

"Riiiight. And why can't you love Malfoy again?"

Hermione's head shot from its position in her hands and her eyes narrowed. "You canNOT be asking me this. Jenna I've just spent an hour-"

"Stop," her friend interrupted. "Just stop. You're being ridiculous and if you won't see it, I'm going to say it. You refuse to even try to love Malfoy on the precedent that he is _the_ Draco Malfoy. The same one who made fun of you, the same one who ruined your life-"

"THE SAME ONE WHO SIDED WITH VOLDEMORT, ALMOST KILLED DUMBLEDORE, AND STOOD BY WHILE HIS AUNT TORTURED ME IN THEIR DRAWING ROOM!"

"Okay, yes, so he hasn't made the best of choices. But seriously, if you'd just give-"

"I swear to Merlin, Jenna, if you're going to tell me to give him a chance, I might just curse you right here on this-"

"Would you please SHUT UP!" Jenna screamed. "I can't get a word out edgewise without your interjecting! Shit! Anyway, have you ever thought that maybe people deserve second chances? That maybe it's a bit unfair to judge them on a decision they made when they were a teenager? He was a baby, Hermione. He was brainwashed to do as he was told, and he is loyal to a fault."

Hermione was silently watching Jenna. She couldn't be serious. Absentmindedly, Hermione rubbed the spot on her forearm where the scar etched into her skin was still very much visible, always hidden by long sleeves or gloves.

"No, Jenna," Hermione said slowly, obviously trying to contain her anger, "I cannot give him another chance. Too much damage has been done."

"Alright, sounds like a jolly good plan. Oh! Didn't I tell you the wonderful news," Jenna said as she practically vibrated on the couch, "I've just found out some wretchedly old relative has left me with enough money to cover the cost of your father's treatment! Oh," she squinted her eyes and tilted her head in mock confusion, all vibrations coming to a halt, "wait. No that's complete horseshit."

"No need to be sassy. I know I need the money and I don't know how to get it, but I'm sure I'll figure something out. I wouldn't expect you to understand-"

"Hermione Jean Granger, do not tell me what I do and don't understand! I understand perfectly fucking well what it looks like when someone is stubborn, and it looks a helluva lot like you. You called me over her to vent. You want my opinion? You're a stubborn arse, much like your fiancé might I add, and you refuse to get with the times. Draco Malfoy is not a bad person. Has he made bad choices? Yes. Does he torture himself every day for them? Hell yes. So quit bitching, suck it up, and either marry him or don't. But just remember, there will always be a choice. Happiness in itself is a choice, and it is one to be made each and every day. If you marry this man and you are miserable for the rest of your life, it is because of the choices you make. I'm going home, and I'm going to choose to be happy, in spite of the fact that you're choosing to wallow in self-pity. And then when I see you Monday morning, I will pretend none of this ever happened. Good night."

With that, she left. Jenna got up, walked to the fire place, grabbed a handful of floo and went home. Dumbfounded, Hermione sat on her couch and stared at her flooring, wondering whether horrid people deserved second chances. If you want to murder someone so desperately that you almost do, but back out at the last second, does that count as actually committing the crime? And even if you had murdered them, if you had done it for the right reasons, would that make it okay? Was it possible to every be truly and completely sorry for even considering ending another human's life? Hermione's thoughts ended abruptly with Crookshanks jumping into her lap.

"Oh, Crookshanks. This is such a mess. How can she expect me to choose to be happy when I'm married to Satan?" But the cat simply curled in on himself in her lap, and purred contently.

Jenna had her points. It _was_ up to Hermione whether or not she chose to be happy, and maybe some people did deserve second chances. Although, she just couldn't seem to get past his attempted murder, no matter how hard she tried. She really needed to talk to her mother, but a glance at the clock told her it was nearly eleven. A good daughter would have waited until morning.

Two rings later, an exasperated Mrs. Granger answered the phone.

"Hermione? Is everything alright?"

Hermione internally rolled her eyes. "Yes, mother. Everything is fine. I just wanted to talk to you about something.

"You're pregnant," her mother deadpanned.

"Mum! No!"

"Oh," she heard her mother breathe a sigh of relief. "Well, what is it then?"

Always so cheerful, she was.

"I'm not pregnant, but don't freak out that I haven't told you sooner," Hermione began.

"You're seeing someone!" her mother all but shouted.

"...Well, sort of." Technically, not a lie.

"Oh, I've waited for this day for so long! Well, go on. Tell me all about him!" She was entirely too excited for it to be this late in the evening.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. We aren't exactly seeing each other, and I can't make up my mind whether or not he's worth it."

"Oh," her mother scoffed, "and you're such a delight to be so choosy. What's the matter with him? And does he have that same horrid red hair as the last one?" She was always such a joy to talk to.

"No, Mum. He's got blonde hair. We use to go to school together when we were little and he teased me endlessly. The thing I'm finding hard to pass over is that he made some horribly dreadful decisions those last few years that we were in school, and I don't know if I'm quite ready to get over it."

"Well, has he gotten over it?"

"I mean...I assume so. He doesn't talk about it much from what I understand but he doesn't seem to be too depressed about it."

"If he's over it, then you've no business still holding him accountable. The mistakes he's made are his to make, not yours to judge. Honestly, Hermione, you can't make everyone miserable forever by reminding them of every little thing they've done to get under your skin. Lord knows I'm tired of it. Is this all you've called me about?"

"Yes, Mum," Hermione sighed. Internally, she knew better than to call her mother. The two had been on the outs ever since Hermione had returned their memories. Her father had continued to love her unconditionally, but her mother felt betrayed that instead of entrusting her with the truth, Hermione had simply wiped her memory away.

"When will I be meeting him?" The question caught Hermione off guard and snapped her away from her thoughts.

"Uh...we aren't actually officially together yet, and I don't want to scare him off by inviting him over too soon. I'll let you know when we've gone public, okay?"

"Oh, Hermoine. Ever the control freak. Yes, okay, tell me when you're ready. Goodnight, dear."

The click of the receiver told Hermione that her mother had hung up. Sighting, she walked back to her room, plugged her phone into its charger and climbed into bed. When had life gotten so complicated? For as long as she could remember, life had never been particularly easy. She had been asked to discontinue several of her primary schools for unexplainable occurrences, and eventually had to be home schooled by a dreaded old woman who slept entirely too much. Receiving her Hogwarts letter was one of the highlights of her life, because for once, someone _wanted_ her.

She'd always felt loved by her parents, but never overly so. The three of them merely existed in their home, no over show of love or affection. Sure, there were times when they went to the movies or went out to eat, but for the most part, Hermione was expected to be an adult from very early on in her childhood. This strained relationship only worsened when her mother had learned her memory had been wiped.

Hermione felt Crookshanks hop up on the bed and curl himself in the crook of her knee. Try as she might, she was unable to keep the nightmares at bay.

 **xxx**

After dinner, Draco had paced around his floor, throwing miscellaneous decorations at any given wall, just to hear them shatter on impact.

Hermione Fucking Granger. What a downright bitch. What right did she have to stroll in his house, claim the only bedroom with access to his library, and then accuse him of being an arse! Her life had always been so goddamned easy. After the war, the entire damned trio got nothing but praise and worship. Ha.

Draco had never forgiven himself for the crimes he committed during the war, but also never talked about them. His chosen vice of therapy was a glass or five of expensive scotch. It wasn't a perfect system, but it was a coping mechanism nonetheless. A bright side to being in a pre-alcoholic stage was his newfound ability to hold his liquor quite well. His mother tsked at him, but she knew better than to question his life choices. Hers, after all, landed her with a lunatic for a husband that almost got his entire family murdered. Good times.

After practically destroying his floor, Draco had gone to bed, only to wake up with a raging hangover that even a potion wouldn't cure. It took the edge off, sure, but the headache and nausea lasted well into midday. When he'd finally gone downstairs to escape the battle zone that was his space, he saw his mother sitting at the dining table.

"Good morning, Draco," Narcissa quipped tightly, sitting still and upright while reading the morning Prophet.

"Good morning, Mother," he said as he walked over to kiss her on the cheek. She did not move.

"You smell like the pig I thought I heard destroying the upstairs last night. Be a good boy and let him go before you go and shower."

"Very funny, Mother," he snapped as he sat down to the lunch before him. He looked down to see a salad and a cup of tea already set in front of him.

"Have you apologized to that poor girl yet? She seemed rather angry when she left last night."

"No, I haven't, and I'm not going to. If she wants out, so be it. I'm not that desperate for a wife, you know.

"Oh?" She asked in feign interest. "I must have missed the line of witches at our door."

"No need to be facetious, Mother. I only meant that there are plenty of other women I can marry on short notice."

"No, Draco," she exhaled, putting the Prophet down and looking sternly into his eyes, "you cannot. Your father has already spoken with the families of your three choices, and you may not marry outside that circle. Well, you could, but we would have to disown you love, and that would make Mummy sad. So please be a dear, and apologize to her. Do whatever you must to get back in her good graces. Also, don't forget that tomorrow you are to go in with your father to work. He wishes to set you up in your office before all of these wedding shenanigans begin."

"Yes, Mother."

"That's a good lad," she smiled. Narcissa rose from her chair, patted Draco on the head, and made her way to the garden.

He really fucking hated when she used pet names.

 **A/N:** Your reviews are so fantastic! They really are inspiring, especially for a new writer. If I don't post again by Friday, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Happy Kwanza, and any other holiday you may celebrate this season!


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